The Miserable Gits Club
by Shiv5468
Summary: Severus, Hermione and Lucius are feeling a little lost after the war. Society is changing, and so are they.
1. Chapter 1

The Fat Goose was not quite the best restaurant in the Wizarding World, but it came a close second. It was also notoriously expensive: ruinously so for someone on an Auror's salary. It was the sort of place someone saved up for and took their girlfriend to when they wanted to propose, or a husband might take his wife to celebrate a wedding anniversary.

It was not the sort of place that Ronald Weasley would usually go to, so Hermione had accepted his invitation to lunch there – on him – with trepidation. It was probably nothing more than trying to cheer her up about not getting her promotion, she thought, though she wondered how he could afford it. Good old Ron.

Initially she'd been disappointed. It wasn't plush or ritzy, there were no chandeliers or velvet chairs or ornate silver cutlery. It was shabby, and gloomy, and she'd nearly stumbled past Ron before the waiter had gently steered her towards her chair.

"Hello," Ron said. "Glad you could make it."

"I couldn't miss a chance like this," she replied.

The waiter deftly inserted menus between them and faded away into obscurity before they could say anything to him.

The menu was heavy cream parchment, with a thin river of ornate text snaking its way down the page. There were no prices on Hermione's menu – an old fashioned touch that would usually have triggered a ten minute diatribe on the rights of the Modern Witch but just made Hermione worry about where the money was coming from to pay for this.

"Ron," Hermione muttered. "How much do you think everything is?"

"There aren't any prices on my menu." He shrugged. "You don't have to worry – it's all being paid for by the Ministry."

His face took on that slightly worried expression that meant that he didn't want to be asked any awkward questions. Hermione let it drop; she'd find out later. "Ok."

She looked at the menu again. The Fat Goose was a restaurant for those who had more money than sense, because only someone who was daft would think that the innards of a small bird was worth fifty galleons merely because it was described in French.

Hermione was brave, but she wasn't foolish; there was no way she was going to eat rice pudding made from snails, or flayed oysters or giblet ice cream. She was going to settle for a nice steak, hope it was from a cow, and traumatise them by asking for it to be well done.

Her decision made, she looked up to catch the eye of the waiter, and noticed a grubby mirror along the whole length of the back wall. It gave her a clear view of the rest of the diners behind her. She inspected her fellow diners carefully, curious to see who actually ate here.

She recognised someone - Scrifkin, she thought his name was – from the Ministry. She was surprised to see him there; she hadn't thought that he would be able to afford it on his salary. He should be on the same pay grade as her. She scowled. If that wanker was paid more than her, then she was in a worse position than she had thought.

"Will you stop looking at them," Ron hissed.

"What?" Hermione said.

"Stop looking at Malfoy; he'll think we're spying on him."

"Malfoy?" Hermione flicked another look their way, and realised that Scrifkin's lunch companion was indeed the elder Malfoy of dark reputation, bottomless pockets, and sneaky tendencies.

He looked up and, before Hermione had a chance to look away, politely inclined his head to her in acknowledgement of her interest in him. She flushed red, but returned the nod with polite frigidity. There was no need to let the swine get to her.

"He's spotted us, hasn't he?" Ron said bitterly.

"He has." Hermione lifted the menu higher so that it would obscure her face, and give them a little privacy. "Is that what you wanted me here for – cover for you following Malfoy."

Ron nodded.

"Oh."

"You don't mind, do you? It's just I would have stuck out like a sore thumb if I'd come here alone, and Harry would have made him even more suspicious. But as it's you he might think that I'm trying to … you know…" Ron blushed.

"Of course I don't mind. It's a bit of a relief actually."

Ron blinked at her. "You weren't worried that I was going to ask you out again were you?"

"It's six weeks since you split up with whateverher name was…"

"… Elizabeth."

"….Elizabeth," she acknowledged. "And it's usually about this time that you start to miss having someone around, then you start getting all misty eyed about us. You only remember the good things, and forget all about the arguing."

"Am I really that predictable?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I'm sorry to break the news to you, but I seem to finally be over you."

She grinned. "I'm crushed. I may have to turn to drink to get over it."

"At these prices?" He winced.

The waiter made no attempt to hide his contempt for the interlopers who were cluttering up his restaurant, and his sneer became even more pronounced as they ordered. "I think if sir looks again at the wine menu, he'll find that there is a cheaper bottle of wine that he might have missed."

Ronald flushed.

"The Margaux," Hermione said, overriding Ron's spluttering, "is adequate. The rest of your wine list is over priced, the wine long past its best, and only suitable to be drunk by those who make their choice according to the pretty picture on the label."

It was the waiter's turn to flush, though this owed rather more to anger than embarrassment. He departed abruptly, returning quickly with a bottle that he plonked down with scant ceremony whilst he rummaged in his starched apron for a corkscrew.

Ron shifted uneasily in his chair. This sort of place was out if his league, and he knew it. Hermione, however, had been on holiday in France, and had been sneered at by proper Sommeliers. This upstart wasn't even close to being as patronising.

The cork was removed, but not presented to either of them for inspection. The waiter slopped some wine into a glass, and proffered it to Ron to taste.

"I'll do that," Hermione said, and the waiter twitched with horror. He had no choice, and passed it over to her. She swirled the wine round the glass, checking the colour and legs, inhaled deeply to take in the rich scents, and then took her first sip. "It'll do," she said.

The waiter's lips tightened still further, but he filled their glasses without spilling a drop.

"Christ, Hermione, do you have to be so ... rude?" Ron hissed at her once the waiter had left. "I'm trying to be inconspicuous here."

"Is he scarier than Voldemort?" she hissed back. "I don't think so, so there's no need to act as if he is. And I don't think that taking his nonsense is being inconspicuous – you should be blending in, and he's treating you as if you don't belong here."

"I don't," Ron replied, examining his fork carefully, and shifting it several millimetres to the left.

"You've more right here than most of that lot." Hermione nodded in the direction of the other stuffed shirts in the room. "At least you've achieved your position because you've done something yourself, and not because your grandfather bribed the Minister for something a hundred years ago."

Ron, who had been giving the impression of someone scuffing their feet in the dirt despite being seated, sat up a little straighter. "Yeah," he said. "That's true." His new found bravado survived even the arrival of the waiter to deliver their first course of Windsor Brown Soup, and the supercilious air he wore, as if serving in a restaurant was a part time job he did when his services weren't needed as Minister.

"Does being a Pureblood rot your brain?" Hermione asked, as she moved her soup round the bowl, without actually tasting it. "Because this stuff is foul, which would be bad enough if it had the excuse of being cheap, but it doesn't. What is in this? It looks more like something you'd find in a cauldron than a soup dish."

"It looks like something Snape would have set you to cleaning up for detention, without magic." Ron prodded at the liquid, watching it surge against the lip of the bowl, assessing its contents for dangerous ingredients.

"I'd heard he was out of hospital." Hermione raised her spoon to her mouth, and allowed a little of the soup past her lips. "That's not so bad."

"Yeah. Poor sod. Can you believe it's taken a year to get all of Nagini's venom out of his system." Ron slurped his soup. "He's still got a white scar across his neck, from here -" Ron gestured with his spoon, sending droplets of soup flying across the white linen table cloth "- to here. Not that it will affect his looks."

"Ron! There's no need to be unkind."

Ron ignored her. She was used to this, so it took a couple of moments to realise that she was specifically being ignored because he was watching someone else, rather than generally being ignored because she was saying something he didn't want to hear.

"Look," he said. "I've got to go. I need to keep an eye on Scrifkin. If I give you some money towards the bill, we can settle up later, yes?"

"I can't..." She had no chance to finish, he was out of his seat and half way across the room, leaving her with a bag of coins, knowing that everyone in the restaurant was staring at her. "Git," she said quietly, and picked up the money.

She glanced at her watch. She just had time to pick up a sandwich on the way back to the office, which would be tastier, cheaper and more fun than sitting here on her own, even with the Hyena breathing down her neck. She caught the waiter's eye on the second attempt, and then asked him for the bill.

"I do hope everything was to Madam's satisfaction," he said, with a curling lip.

"Not really," she replied coolly. "It's a shame that Ministry business called my companion away, but you know how it is."

"Fortunately, I don't."

Hermione blinked at the man's retreating back, and wondered how he managed to square his patronising attitude with the fact that he was actually nothing more than a waiter. What he needed, she thought, was a couple of days working in MacDonalds, see how the other half lived. He'd be a broken man.

The bill wiped the smile off her face. She looked at the waiter with horror. She knew how much was in her Gringott's account, and it wasn't enough to cover it and she didn't think that offering to do the washing up was going to work. There were very nasty rumours about what happened to people who cheated The Fat Goose out of their money and if even half of them were true she was in a lot of trouble.

"I don't see why I should have to pay for the entire meal," she said, squelching her sense of panic. "I have only eaten the first course."

"That was your choice, madam. If you choose to be so ill-mannered as to leave before the end of the meal that is your prerogative. It is, however, one that you will have to pay for."

A movement behind the waiter attracted Hermione's attention. Lucius Malfoy had summoned the manager by simply crooking his finger, and made some comment about the situation she was in. The manager looked startled, but nodded his acquiescence, then moved towards her.

The manager tapped the waiter on the shoulder, who melted away into the shadows. "Mr Malfoy would be grateful if you would join him as his guest," he said.

"Would he indeed?" she replied.

Hermione didn't think that things could get any worse – it was an interesting question whether she'd prefer to sell her soul to the Fat Goose or Lucius Malfoy.

Cornered, she did the only thing she could think of – make things worse. "Please convey my regrets to Mr Malfoy, and say that I find this table to be perfectly satisfactory. However, he is perfectly welcome to join me," she said in a voice pitched to carry.

She wasn't sure which would be worse, sitting at the same table as a man who had once watched her being tortured by his deranged sister-in-law, or him refusing her invitation. Kingsley might talk about the need for the wounds of the Wizarding World to heal, and she might agree in principle, it was another thing to face someone who had come damned close to giving you actual wounds without flinching.

She still dreamed of Bellatrix, the knife, the agony of Crucio, and the knowledge that she had come so close to breaking and telling them everything as long as the pain stopped.

And the supercilious arse who crossed the room to sit opposite her had watched it all and made no move to help her. For a split second, she imagined picking up the fork and sticking it through his hand and seeing if she could make him scream for mercy.

"You spent an hour or so in her company," Lucius remarked, allowing the waiter to place a fresh napkin in his lap. "I had a year of it."

Her eyes widened in shock. "You're a Legilimens too?"

"Perhaps." He smiled, a little. "Not that it's needed when you're glaring at me with murder in your heart. One doesn't need to resort to such tactics in the face of such obvious dislike. Not that I blame you; I understand completely."

"That's big of you." Hermione knew she sounded like a sulky child, and that she had surrendered the initiative, but she didn't want his understanding.

"Not really, but we will let that pass," Lucius replied, then turned to the waiter. "Take this soup away, bring something edible in its place for my guest. Do not burn her steak, and fetch me a decent bottle of claret. I shall have some petits fours, and another coffee."

The waiter looked like he'd been forced to eat some of his own soup, but did as he was told, deftly removing the bowl from in front of her, and replacing it with a salad nicoise. It still wasn't delectable, but it was edible.

"So, what do you want?" she asked, breaking the long silence that had grown between them. "You must want something, or you wouldn't be offering to buy me lunch."

"I could conceivably be settling for merely humiliating you and Mr Weasley."

"At these prices? That's a very poor return on your investment, when you could have just sneered in passing."

"Perhaps I'm more accustomed to paying these prices?"

Hermione neatly dissected a piece of lettuce, and considered the point. "Even so..."

"Even so, as you so percipiently remark, I do want something."

Hermione prepared to say no.

"Severus," said Lucius, simply. "In return for lunch, I merely want to discuss our mutual acquaintance. Nothing more exciting than that. After that, I rely on your conscience to prick you into action."

"Is he all right?"

"He's bad tempered, crotchety, vicious-tongued and generally acting like a curmudgeon." Lucius paused as a waiter brought him his coffee and petit fours. "I find this reassuring in many ways, as a grumpy Severus is one who is returning to health. When he was in the hospital, he could barely raise his head to swear at the healers for being incompetent fools who knew nothing about potions, and who were inflicting pain on him needlessly as they hadn't mastered the basics of their profession."

"I tried to see him, just after the news broke that he'd managed to make it to St Mungo's. They wouldn't let me in - family and close friends only. I'm glad he's feeling better," she said.

"I didn't know." Lucius' brow furrowed. "Severus was too ill to make any arrangements, and I had been named next of kin. Naturally, I stepped in to do all I could, and that included keeping him protected from those seeking revenge, whether from your side, my side, or the Ministry, who are on no one's side. I thought it best to exclude everyone from visiting him."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"Do you realise that no one else, apart from my family, has visited him since?"

Hermione blinked at him, fork poised midway between plate and mouth. "No one? Not even Professor McGonagall?"

"There was a fleeting visit from our new Minister, to give him his pardon, and that was it."

"Oh dear."

"Oh dear, indeed. One would have expected the Weasleys, at least, to have made something of an effort. I understand that Severus was instrumental in preventing the charming Carrows from Crucioing the younger Weasley into a gibbering wreck."

"Yes, well I think they were a bit preoccupied with Fred, and keeping an eye on George." She chewed and swallowed the steak. "And the business with his ear and all... It tended to sour relations a little. You can't blame them for that."

"Severus stopped it from being a lot worse. The Carrows were a perfectly charming pair, coming only second to the charming Bella or Fenrir in frothing insanity."

"You don't have to convince me," she replied. "It's just... complicated. Anyway, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I think it would be nice if Severus were to receive a visit from you, say tomorrow some time, asking after his well-being. You will then encourage him into taking an interest in life outside the Manor."

"Erm, how? Professor Snape and I have hardly been on the best of terms. I can't see him being all that pleased to see me, actually."

"He won't be. However, irritation is just as good a spur with Severus as any more positive emotion, and I have plans."

"Naturally," said Hermione, and sighed. "I wish I bloody did."

Lucius cocked his head at her, and summoned the waiter with a snap of his fingers. "Why don't you tell your Uncle Lucius all about it, whilst you have another glass of wine?"

She shivered, then took a large gulp of wine. She'd intended to spend her lunch complaining about her job, and it would be just as easy to complain to Lucius as to Ron. Neither of them would listen, neither of them would have anything useful to contribute, but at least she would feel better for letting it all out. "Well," she said, and began to outline her difficulties at work. It was a prolonged whinge. It was one she'd been storing up for a year or more, and never before had she had such an appreciative audience, who murmured encouragement as she talked, and kept her glass topped up.

She knew she shouldn't trust him, but he was the first person who had bloody listened to her in ages, and it wasn't as if she had to pretend to be Nice Hermione with him. It was like kicking off your shoes at the end of a long day, and slipping into some furry slippers with a microwaved meal perched on your stomach and something mindless on the telly. You knew you ought to be eating salad, and reading a book, but...

It was a simple tale. She had always believed in the Rules, even when she was breaking them. The Rules were important; she knew that. Without them there would be anarchy and chaos, and that wasn't right.

There were Rules. And that was Good. Even though sometimes you had to bend them – or break them – for the good of others, especially if they were your friends.

One of the Rules, she'd always thought was that people who worked hard at school and did well in their exams would rise rapidly through the ranks of the Ministry until they had a well-paid job, a bit of responsibility, and could Do things to make the world a better place. Something important, that would matter, and that would see her name go down in the history books as something more than the Girl who helped the Boy who Lived Twice.

Apparently this wasn't so much a Rule as a Guideline.

She'd joined the Muggle Affairs department straight out of Hogwarts, once she'd completed her NEWTs. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Her background would give her a head start over the others, she'd reasoned. She would be working in the same department as Arthur Weasley, so she'd have a friendly face to help her out. And it was obvious that Muggle Affairs were really important, that this was the cutting edge of the Ministry's work.

What could be more important than making sure that the transition of Muggleborns into Wizarding Society was handled properly?

Rubbish collection. Cauldron size. Just about everything really.

She was a sensible girl. She hadn't expected to be trusted with anything really important straight away, even though she was one of the saviours of the Wizarding World. (It was what the Daily Prophet had called her, not how she thought of herself. Not even in the privacy of her own mind.) But she had expected that once she'd proved herself to be bright and hardworking, well, it was only a matter of time.

At first she'd done well. There had been rapid promotion, rising through the ranks to become Assistant to the Head of Department, but there she'd stayed. Instead of reaching the next grade and being given a team of her own to manage and a fancy title like Head of Muggle Liaison, she was stuck as a glorified personal assistant.

It had seemed like such a good opportunity at the time. She'd be working directly to the Head of Department, giving her a chance to impress him, and to get involved in policy formation.

The only policy formation she'd been involved in was milk, two sugars.

So she'd tried harder. Volunteered to do more. Taken on more responsibility. Become indispensable.

That would do it, she thought. Finally her skills would be recognised and she'd be back on the fast track to promotion. Only she'd done too good a job, and really was indispensable, which was why her boss was moving on to pastures new without her.

And he hadn't even had the decency to get her a promotion as a leaving present.

Her new boss was a cow, determined to enforce her newfound authority over everyone in general, and Hermione in particular, with the wit and charm of a hyena.

Hermione had moved from fury to sulking to a kind of dull bitterness that reminded her of Professor Snape, which only made her feel worse. She should surely be ten years older before she started being that cynical about life, and at this rate would run out of illusions to be shattered before she turned forty.

"And do you enjoy your talents being passed over?" Lucius asked, topping up her glass once more.

"Not much," she replied, her opinion of his intellect dipping in the face of such a stupid question.

"The old boy's network is such a powerful thing." He leaned back on his chair, and steepled his fingers. "And when you are on the outside of it. It's so hard to get on in life."

"I'd noticed," she said bitterly. "Sorry, were you simply gloating about being on the inside of the network, or was there some other point to what you're saying?"

"I'm laying the groundwork for making you an offer," he replied. "If you had the wit to appreciate it."

"You've just poured half a bottle of wine into me, to make sure I didn't have the wit to realise that it's wrong for me to be talking to you, so you can't blame me for being a little slow on the uptake."

He smiled. "A very good point."

She took another gulp of wine by way of alibi. "What sort of deal?"

"I could act as your career adviser, making a few suggestions here, making some introductions there, and before you know it, you would be the rising star of the department."

"What's in it for you?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Dear me, it seems you haven't had enough to drink, or too much. You're really not supposed to ask that sort of question."

"Oh, I think I am, Uncle Lucius."

"Not so directly. You're supposed to think it, but not ask it. I shall have to work hard to break you of that little habit of asking questions, I can see."

She swallowed her first indignant retort. He knew how to play the game, and she didn't. A man who stayed out of Azkaban had to be good at playing the game; it wasn't all down to bribery and blackmail. She'd never had much time for subtle when dealing with the boys, but it was dawning on her that they were not the best preparation for getting on in the world of work. These were lessons that she needed. "How am I supposed to find out the answer then?" she asked. "If I don't ask."

"Can you trust my answers?"

She cocked her head, puzzling her way through that. "Of course not, but surely asking lets the person know that you know that they are up to something which you may not want them to know always, I accept, but I think that when I'm dealing with you it's important that you know that I know, or otherwise you might not know that I know. And, more generally, asking that question makes people have to think of something to tell you that isn't true, and they might let something slip, and even if they lie, it tells you something about what they're thinking. It's not a stupid question, by any means."

"If I thought you were that naive, I wouldn't be talking to you at all." He leaned forward in his chair, his fingers splayed over the tablecloth as if to demonstrate he were harmless. "What your question does suggest is that you're rather concerned about my opinion of you, and that exposes a weakness. A hedgehog may show you its spines, but you know that's because it has a soft underbelly."

She looked him directly in the eyes, legilimency be damned. "You'd have to be very arrogant to think that I'd care for your opinion at all, rather than simply thinking that you were a dangerous person to trust."

"No one has ever accused me of a lack of self-worth," he said mildly. "But I will accept that you were motivated by nothing more than distrust, which is a perfectly admirable trait, and one that should always be encouraged, especially in one so young and innocent. I will make a deal with you, dear Miss Granger. If you can work out what my motives are, then you can ask me for a favour and, if it is in my power, I will grant it. Consider it the first step in your political education."

"It's not much of a favour, with that sort of caveat attached," she said, with narrowed eyes.

"The Malfoy Library is considered very fine." He selected a petit four, and popped it into his mouth, chewing it slowly with every sign of enjoyment.

Git, she thought. And, bastard.

"After all, Miss Granger, it's probably your duty to make sure that I'm not up to anything nefarious, and how better to do this than by keeping a very close eye on me?"

She nodded, once, sharply, not prepared to admit out loud that she was thinking of accepting his help, or was already thinking how well that excuse would work with the boys.

"Now, drink up your coffee, and do try one of these sweets whilst I deal with the bill, and I'll escort you back to the Ministry."

"I can find my own way," she replied, but took the petit four nonetheless.

"I'm sure you can, but business takes me that way, and your company is so entrancing I cannot be without it."

Hermione didn't protest. She assumed that it was another of those political lessons she was supposed to be absorbing and the point he was making would become obvious, not to mention that she didn't want to annoy someone who was about to pay the bill. They spent the remainder of the lunch chatting about acquaintances in common, with Hermione trying not to say anything that might be useful, and Lucius just smiling faintly at her. It made her feel like a sheep in a field of wolves at first, until she looked closer and noticed the fine lines round his eyes, the pinching of the nostrils, and the twitching of his fingers whenever he forgot to order his hands to remain still. The marks of his time, locked up in Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord, were still on him. He didn't look the same supremely confident man he had been before.

Something was badly wrong with him.

She'd seen that look on her own face, and that of the boys, over the last year: someone short of sleep and heavy on nightmares. Muggles had a name for it, post-traumatic stress; the Magical world had nothing. If there wasn't a potion for it, it didn't exist, and no one wanted to face up to the human cost of the war, not while they were busy pretending it had never happened.

It didn't make her like him any more, but it did make her feel more confident in dealing with him. She could manage a broken Malfoy. Probably. Something in her lifted at the thought of the challenge. At least she wouldn't be bored.

It was 3 pm by the time they returned to the Ministry, after lingering over coffee and more petits fours, the only thing that was worth eating at the place. The Hyena was waiting for her, all hackles raised and full of her importance. She wasn't pleased that Hermione had managed to duck out of her control.

One of her colleagues, keen to curry favour, had let slip to the Hyena that morning that Hermione was 'off out somewhere nice for lunch'. The mirthless smile on her boss's lips indicated that Hermione would be lucky to get away, and that some last minute job would be forthcoming.

She'd countered that by hiding out in the toilets, and counting down the minutes until she could leave, before Apparating out. It involved breaking at least six Ministry regulations on the way but, as far as she was concerned, that had been one of the occasions when rule breaking was not only acceptable but required but now she was going to have to pay for it.

"What time do you call this?" she said, and Hermione bit back a sharp response asking whether she was too stupid to tell the time.

"You will have to forgive Miss Granger," Malfoy said, casting oil on troubled waters. "I detained her."

Hermione had the immense satisfaction of watching the Hyena subside into apologies. She didn't go so far as to say sorry to Hermione personally, but directed them at a space between her and Lucius. It was still gratifying, and rather disturbing to watch the woman turn into a simpering idiot.

"Oh, well, if there's anything else that I can do, you have only to ask," the Hyena said. "I'm sure I can be more helpful than a lowly assistant."

"I'm sure you could," he replied. "If it were a Ministry matter, but... it was a personal matter."

The Hyena stiffened, her simper fading. "Personal? On Ministry time? I'm not sure that..."

"You really can't rush lunch at the Fat Goose; I'm sure you understand."

The Hyena didn't, and her outrage was increasing at the thought that her assistant had been given such a treat. Her mouth worked, opening and closing, but finding no words to express herself.

"Until tomorrow, then," Malfoy continued, turning to Hermione. "I know Severus is eager to catch up with you. Would you prefer lunch or afternoon tea?"

"Er, tea," she said, then felt sick. "Where did you have in mind?"

"I've given Severus the run of the East Wing, as he's not well enough to go out in public yet," he said softly. "It's not an area of the Manor that you will have seen before."

She swallowed hard. "Three pm?"

"I'll look forward to it. I'll meet you at the gates and walk you up, yes? Show you some of the gardens; I know you didn't have a chance to admire them on your last visit."

She nodded, not trusting her voice to come out normally, and amazed at his ability to normalise abduction and torture as on a par with not completing a sightseeing tour.

The Hyena turned to her as soon as Malfoy had gone, sweeping majestically up the corridor. "You had lunch with Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes," Hermione said; it was reasonably true.

"And you've been to Malfoy Manor?"

Hermione's eyes widened - surely no one had missed that bit of news.

"Well, aren't you the lucky one?" the Hyena said, sounding as bitter as Snape on a Friday facing double potions with Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"It's not as much fun as you might think," Hermione replied, stiff lipped. "All you have to do is be on opposing sides of the war, get captured, be taken there at wandpoint, and then tortured until you pass out. That gives you a wonderful opportunity to admire the carpeting. The tour of the dungeons isn't optional." Hermione was sure she'd added the words 'you stupid bitch' out loud, so hard was she thinking them.

The Hyena's eyes narrowed, looking at Hermione as if she were some carcase on the veldt that she'd love to close her jaws round. "And yet you accepted his invitation to afternoon tea. It's clear what you're after. Well, he'll never marry you. Not in a million years. Lucius Malfoy will never forget what's due to his bloodline, even if he does have an heir."

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" Hermione replied, and smiled at the thought of Malfoy's reaction to their impending nuptials. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get back to work."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Plot and counter-plot

The Conservatory at Malfoy Manor was as splendid and ornate as the rest of the house. Lucius' mother had loved orchids, and Lucius had loved his mother; her portrait hung on the far wall, with a good view of her planting regime, and in the best place to oversee any pruning, watering, or breathing on her beloved plants.

It was, Severus would admit, an unlikely place to find an ex-Potion's Master, ex-DADA professor, ex-Headmaster, ex-Death Eater and, judging by the visitors he hadn't received, ex-Order member. He thought that there were so many exes in his life, that there was nothing left for him to be, other than companion to a portrait and budding orchid specialist.

He'd nearly died and spent a year locked away in a ward coughing up blood and writhing in agony, and seeing daylight again had taken on a new importance. He had spent twenty years of his life in the dungeons at Hogwarts, and sunlight had never seemed that important - it was useful for illuminating things, but so was Lumos - not until it seemed unlikely that he would ever see any again. He had a vague memory of saying something about that to Lucius, though it could have been delirium. He hoped it was, as he'd been sobbing onto the man's shoulder at the time, and only a fever-dream would account for the gentle way Lucius had held him and stroked his hair while he wept. It was a syllogism, he thought - Lucius Malfoy did not console, therefore any recollection of consolation could not be real, therefore he had not been that pathetic.

He rather thought he had though.

He knew he ought to resent having been that exposed rather more, but almost-death had changed him, or, at least, weakened him, and he hadn't the energy to make a big deal out of it. He hadn't weakened enough to thank Lucius, mind you. He had some pride.

When St Mungo's had said he was free to go home, he'd stared at the grey wall of his room, unable to move, not sure where home was. Spinner's End didn't count. He hadn't agreed to stay with Lucius, but then Lucius hadn't asked. High-and-Mighty simply had an elf pack his meagre possessions, and arranged for the portkey to deliver him to the Manor.

It had been one of his calm days, and he'd allowed himself to be packed off to bed without a murmur.

He hadn't found the energy to leave yet, and had made the conservatory his room, sitting in the sun, and making the elves fetch and carry for him. If he were dramatic, like Lucius, he would say that he had lived a life of darkness, and was ready to emerge into the light. Mostly, he was just cold, a side-effect of the potions that he had been administered, and which had used up all his stores of body fat to fight off Nagini's venom.

The silk dressing gown helped, warming charms woven into its fabric, lined with the finest eiderdown, and hedged round with dirt-repelling and anti-crease charms. There were days when he thought nothing would ever make him cross again, and would sit in the sun, clothed in glorious green silk, waiting for his flowers to show him their beauties. Those were the days when he would catch Lucius looking at him as if he were at death's door. And there were days when he wanted to decimate everything around him for having the audacity to exist, to be green and growing, to be alive, and would pick arguments with Lucius because he'd seen him at his weakest and because he was there.

Today was a good day. He'd been discussing brewing specialised orchid feeds with Mrs Malfoy - they still weren't on first name terms - and had even ventured a little light pruning under her vigilant gaze. The sun was warm, the tea was strong and hot, and the heady scent of the orchids flooded his senses. He was being decadent, he realised, which was thoroughly out of character for a working class boy from t'North.

It was good. He could get used to it. And the signs were that he would be allowed to get used to it. At some point, someone would present him with a bill for this luxury, there was always a price, but in the meantime he would enjoy it.

A house elf scurried into the room, bringing another cup and saucer, and a fresh pot of tea. Another elf brought a fresh plate of little cakes his mother would have appreciated in her constant battle against calories, and which his father would have called poncy. Severus liked poncy cakes: he could have four poncy cakes, rather than one proper slice of cake.

Lucius settled in the chair opposite him. An elf poured his tea for him, adding milk and sugar in the exact proportions required, and then winked out of existence.

"You look pleased with yourself," Severus observed. The last rays of the afternoon sun slanted in through the windows, giving Lucius' hair an almost ginger cast. Severus smirked, and made a note to mention that at some critical point when Lucius was rather too pleased with himself.

"I encountered an old acquaintance of yours this afternoon at the Fat Goose."

Severus cocked an eyebrow in query.

"Miss Granger. She asked to be remembered to you."

"I'm sure she did," he replied, attempting the venom of his sneers of old, and managing merely to sound querulous. He didn't like Potter, and didn't want to see Potter ever again, but he still thought the boy owed him some thanks for all he'd done. It would have been pleasant to refuse them, but that hadn't been an option.

"You doubt me, Severus?" Lucius asked.

"As always."

Lucius took a swallow of tea, and selected a diminutive chocolate eclair for his delectation. "We had lunch together."  
"And why would you be lunching there, with her. I don't suppose she was aware that the place is the traditional venue for plotting, but you certainly do," Severus said coolly.

"She doesn't appear to be aware of its reputation, though there can be no other reason to go there; the food was dreadful as always."

"This is what happens when everything is hand made, rather than prepared by Elves. An expensive affectation, even if it is designed to prevent the use of poisons." Severus tipped his cup in a mocking salute, and swallowed his tea. "And it must cost a small fortune to keep renewing the wards that restrict the use of Unforgivables. We simply mustn't have Pureblood competitiveness get out of hand, can we? Such a breach of etiquette."

"They don't seem to prevent the establishment from committing murder of the palate and the digestive tract," Lucius said darkly. "If it wasn't for the necessity of advertising precisely who you are plotting with to the rest of the world, I'd never darken their door again."

"You could consider taking out an ad in the Daily Prophet," Severus replied. "Or you should do as I did, and meet in shady pubs, with even shadier characters. I never had the luxury of doing my plotting in such august surroundings. It was scampi in a basket and a pint of bitter if you were lucky."

"Sounds delightful. I hope you indented Dumbledore for the costs."

"I had two masters, and not one of the bastards paid expenses," Snape replied.

"I don't know why - His Lordship made free enough with my vaults over the years. He was almost as expensive as Narcissa, though not as well dressed." Lucius managed to keep his tone light, but the underlying tone of savagery had been picked up by Severus, who sat up straighter in his chair. He'd not asked about Narcissa; her absence was enough of an explanation. "You taught Miss Granger. What do you recall of her?" Lucius asked, stifling his bitterness in favour of seeking enlightenment.

"I've taught most of the wizarding population, certainly all of it below the age of 35. I try to forget them."

"Don't be obtuse, Severus."

"I see, I am to pay my rent for your generous invitation to reside here." Severus hadn't expected the bill to be delivered quite so soon.

"I find that mildly insulting, Severus. My invitation is as a result of your actions protecting my son. I do not quibble over the debt."

Severus relaxed fractionally. "You have a serious interest in her? I don't like the girl, but neither am I inclined to hand her over to your tender mercies."

"I am a reformed man," Lucius mocked. "I have paid my debt to society."

Severus said nothing, forcing Lucius to elaborate.

"I have a mind to do business with the girl, if you could call that serious," Lucius said, conceding that he wasn't going to get more information until he gave his reasons for a sudden interest in one of the Golden Trio. "An exchange of favours - information in return for a little practical career advice. Miss Granger feels that her talents are being underappreciated."

It was a reason that made sense to Severus, and one that held no immediate danger for the girl, could even do her some good, if Lucius played fair. Well, fairish. "She's a bright girl, but she thinks that all the answers are to be found in a book, though whether that extends to areas other than the academic…. She seemed a reasonably shrewd judge of character."

"The brains of the outfit, but perhaps not the strategist?"

"Not… quite. I wasn't in a position to observe the inner workings of the trio, but, though Weasley was always held to be the planner, I think it was rather more the interaction between them. They sparked off each other."

"Not a fool then." Lucius' eyes half-closed, a trick of his when he was thinking.

"By no means."

"Good. A fool would be no challenge."

"She doesn't know how to play the game, Lucius. If she loses too hard…" Severus had no reason to feel any warmth towards Granger, who had left him to die, and hadn't even had the decency to bring him a bunch of grapes in hospital whilst blubbering about how sorry she was, but Lucius' interest in the girl still made him uneasy.

"Nonsense. This is no high-stakes, do or die, arrangement. Those days are gone forever." Lucius frowned at an errant thread pulled loose on the cuff of his robes.

"If you say so," Severus agreed.

"We... I've lost, Severus. Our world will fade, swept aside by the new ideas of the Muggleborns. All I can do is salvage a little influence and power from the wreckage, and if that involves cosying up to the next generation of power brokers whilst they are young and naive enough to think that they are the ones getting the benefits of the relationship..."

Severus' eyes flicked up to the ceiling, as if imploring heaven to give him strength. "Oh, do stop this maudlin wallowing. You've your house, your bank accounts, your wife and child - even if they aren't talking to you at the moment - your freedom, and you're the twistiest individual I've ever known. You took on the Dark Lord, the Ministry and the Order and still came out - if not precisely on top - close enough."

Lucius shrugged, one shoulder lifted in a gesture of resignation; this was an old argument. "Perhaps. In any event, Miss Granger is coming to see us tomorrow at 3. We shall take tea together, as if we were old friends."

"Oh, you can count me out of that. I've no wish to see..."

"She says she came to see you in St Mungos, when you were first there," Lucius said, cutting across Severus' diatribe.

"She would," Severus replied, dismissively. "I don't remember her. I would remember her, wouldn't I?"

Lucius gave him the Look, the one he hadn't seen for a while, the one that said he was an invalid that needed to be treated gently. "She was turned away. My orders, I'm afraid - no one but people approved by me were allowed to see you."

"Oh, thank you." He wouldn't have had the strength to deal with her, and wouldn't have liked to have been seen by her in that state, his fantasies about cutting her down to size aside. It was more likely that she would have reduced him to tears with her apologies.

"She's looking forward to seeing you again."

"Really?"

"Really." Lucius smiled. "That's what she told me, and you know how it is with these Gryffindors; absolutely no ability to lie."

The Elves performed the same ceremony preparing tea the following day: snowy tablecloth smoothed over the table, a cup and saucer at each place setting, a side plate, and a lazy susan in the centre. It would obscure their view of each other, but that could only be a good thing. Severus had a creeping sense of dread about the whole business; theirs was not a grouping that was destined for easy conversation. On the other hand, he hadn't had the pleasure of indulging in some petty backbiting and squabbling since the last staff meeting before Albus...left.

If he wasn't careful, this was going to degenerate into the sort of staff meeting they had when he was Headmaster.

Lucius certainly considered it bad manners to greet a guest in a dressing gown. "Aren't you going to change?" he asked, looking disapproving.

"No," Severus replied, his fingers withdrawing into the depths of the cuffs.

"I suppose there is some advantage in playing the sympathy card." Lucius's tone made it clear that he had higher standards than that, as if he'd never been that hollow-eyed man trapped in the Manor with a madman. He fussed over the line of his robes, smoothing them into place like a nervous teenager on a first date. "Are you going to play the invalid to the hilt, or will you be coming down to the gates to meet her?"

"You invited her."

"For your benefit."

"I don't know what benefit you imagine I will get from seeing Miss Granger again..." though he could hazard a guess, and he had no intention of crawling back to the Order for their help, and he didn't trust Lucius not to say things behind his back and give certain impressions to a naive young girl of his eagerness to be admitted back into the fold. "Nevertheless, I shall accompany you."

Lucius smirked; the message that he was untrustworthy had been received, and treated as the compliment it was.

Their progress to the front gates was slow and stately, but they were there on the dot of three.  
Granger was early. Granger would probably be early for her own execution, and nag her executioner about doing it properly. She was also quieter than he remembered, and thinner, altogether older and sharper looking.

"Miss Granger, how nice to see you again," Lucius said, offering his hand to her again. She blinked at it, sighed, and then proffered her own in return. Lucius patted it gently, then tucked over his arm.

"Granger," Severus said, and nodded.

"Sir," she replied neutrally. She'd probably agonised over what to call him for hours: Severus was too intimate, Snape too dismissive, and Professor or Headmaster was out of the question.  
Lucius frowned at him over Granger's head, unimpressed with the warmth of his welcome.  
"You'll have to forgive me, but we'll have to take the long way up to the house. The need for security is such, well, it would take me days to dismantle the Anti-Apparition wards, and the walk is pleasant enough to reward your inconvenience."

"I'm sure," was all she said in reply.

Granger had developed an obsessive interest in gardens, and asked question after question of Lucius. Questions that had to be answered in detail, stopping to point out a rose here, a shrub there, so that the journey back took half as long again. Severus was glad of it, as the Manor was uphill from the Apparition point, in keeping with all tactics that required you to force your enemy to attack up hill. He could see why, now, and was badly in need of a sit down.  
He took a deep breath and listened to Lucius maundering on about mulches. "I don't recall you being interested in plants at school," Severus said, interrupting Lucius' animadversions on how long horse manure should be left to rot, as if he actually knew or cared, rather than leaving the horrifying details to his elves. "Sprout was one of the few teachers who didn't regularly sing your praises."

"I got an Outstanding in my NEWTS," she said, her lips tightening.

He filed away the knowledge that she was still determined to know everything, and sensitive over suggestions that there may be gaps in her understanding of anything. "You were no Longbottom, though, with your hands up to your elbows in muck."

"Gardening is different. It was one of the things I missed when I was at Hogwarts - sitting in my parents' garden and looking at the roses. You don't have to spend your time digging to appreciate a view."

He supposed it was possible, but he still had the feeling he was being humoured. "What's that, then?" He pointed at a pinkish looking shrub in front of them.

"The lavatera?" she asked.

Severus grunted.

"I did just tell her that," Lucius pointed out, and Hermione grinned at him. Severus could pinpoint the precise moment she remembered who Lucius was, and why she didn't like him by the way her smile faded from her eyes.

"I knew anyway. My parents have one in their back garden. They can be used in some love potions, can't they?" she said.

"And several Dark potions, designed to cause nothing but pain and suffering," Severus replied, quashing her frivolity.

"Sounds like Love potions to me," she said, narrowing her eyes and glaring at the inoffensive plant.

"Miss Granger is delightfully bitter, Severus. You and she have so much in common," Lucius said, and smiled at them both impartially. "Though she has a long way to go before she can reach the heights - or should that be plumb the depths, I'm never sure - of your rancour."

Severus and Hermione exchanged a long look.

"She's young, yet," Snape said. "She's got time to catch up."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," she said, sounding nothing like the young, eager girl he remembered.

He looked at her again, more closely, passing over the superficial changes that growing up had made, to the drawn face and dark shadows under her eyes. Lucius was right, she was bitter, and he felt a lurch of something that could be concern, though he wasn't sure. It had been so long since he'd felt anything other than tired, or angry, or tired of being angry. Lucius was good at sniffing out other's weaknesses. It was his talent, the one thing that had bolstered his power, much more than wealth or Dark Art's expertise.

"As you're so interested in plants, perhaps you'd like to look at my orchids," he said gruffly.

"Of course," she said. "I've heard they're very difficult to grow."

The discussion of feeds, pruning, and cross-pollination lasted till they reached the conservatory, and then Hermione asked to be shown some of the blooms whilst Lucius arranged himself at the table and oversaw the preparation of tea, summoning elves to bring the teapot and comestibles.

She seemed genuinely interested, and not just in the showy blooms that Lucius liked. She spotted the new, green orchid he was growing - shy, delicate, and subtly perfumed, and only for a connoisseur. "It's very pretty." She put out a hand to touch it, and then drew back. "I'd better not. I don't want to ruin all your hard work with cross-contamination."

"Quite right," he said, and looked up to see Lucius watching them fondly. It made his blood run cold. Whatever Lucius wanted, he was getting, and he'd no more trust his pose of disinterested helpfulness than believe Riddle if he'd suddenly converted to muggle-loving. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked suddenly, making Hermione look up at him. "You know what he's like, how dangerous he is, and you come tripping up here as if he's your newest best friend. Are you insane?"

"Ah," she said, and rose from her half-crouch, dusting her hands on her robes. "Uncle Lucius stepped in to pay the bill yesterday when Ron had to leave suddenly. The price of his help was agreeing to come to tea."

"Just that?"

"Just that. More or less. There was a certain amount of whining on my part about how horrid my job was, and a lot of wondering what on earth he was up to, but nothing that could amount to plotting to bring down the Wizarding world."

"He's probably saving that for after tea."

She giggled, and he looked at her in irritation. He wasn't joking. And neither, he suspected, was Lucius.

"He's a danger," he repeated.

"No, he was once, and he'd like you to think that he still is, but... no." She gave Lucius a hard, assessing gaze. "That year with Voldemort burned it out of him. I don't think he'll ever recover. I think this is a good thing for all concerned, mind you."

"You don't understand..."

"I do," she interrupted. "I saw him. I saw him when Bellatrix was ..." She swallowed hard. "I wasn't really concentrating on anyone but her, but even under those conditions things stay with you. Fenrir enjoyed it, but the Malfoys looked sick to their stomachs. Probably worried about the mess I was making on the carpet, but ...He had no mask to hide behind there; I could see."

He'd seen Fenrir's enthusiasm a time or two, and it still gave him nightmares. "Still, it's a fine distinction to make."

She shrugged. "I wanted to see you, see how you were."

Usually he would dismiss that as empty assurances, but there was nothing anyone wanted from him now, and he had a poor opinion of Granger's ability to dissemble. "Lucius said you'd come to St Mungo's."

"I did. I wanted to say sorry. And then I realised that saying sorry didn't really count for much."

"So you gave up."

"So I decided to wait until you were well enough to deal with visitors, and then say I was sorry, and make sure you know that if there's anything I can do for you, ever, you only have to ask. We - I - owe you more than I can say." She put her hand on his arm, looking earnest.

He believed her, and he wanted to rage that it meant nothing, but he was obviously having one of his calm days because all that came out of his mouth was, "We all had our tasks to perform."

She let the matter drop, and he was grateful for it. He needed time to work out how he felt about anything more complicated than silk, soft, cake, good, tea, nice.

Lucius interrupted them. "Tea's ready, and eclairs; the elves have outdone themselves."

There was silence at first, once they had taken their seats at the table. Lucius played courteous host, pouring the tea and passing sandwiches to his guests, but even his ability to talk nonsense at length about anything was strained by their disparate personalities. They couldn't talk of mutual acquaintances, and tear their reputations to shreds, as they were either dead or in prison or positions of such power that neither Lucius nor Severus could afford to offer anything less than fulsome praise.

"Lucius said you had lunch at the Fat Goose; what did you think of it?" Severus said, fairly sure that the deficiencies of the kitchen would provide ten minutes conversation at least, and see them through to the scones if they were lucky.

"Dreadful," she replied, and put her sandwich down on her plate, preparatory to holding forth at length on the topic.

"You never did explain what you were doing there," Lucius put in, before she could develop her theme.

"I thought she was having lunch with you," Severus said, letting Lucius know he'd been caught out in his lack of frankness.

"Eventually. Once Mr Weasley was called away," Lucius replied. "And there are only two reasons to go to the Fat Goose: plotting and marriage proposals, and I'm sure no one would run away from a proposal in such a way."

There was the tell tale nibble on the lower lip, familiar to Snape from many an outrageous lie on behalf of the other members of the Trio. "Ron does it all the time. He asks to marry him, whenever he is in between girlfriends, but only because he's certain I won't agree. Keeps his Mum off his back for a bit."

"Now, why do I think you're being less than candid," Lucius said softly.

Hermione stopped fidgeting, and looked directly at Lucius, the very epitome of Earnest Student recounting the Tale of the Lost Homework being Eaten by a Familiar. "Well, it's true it doesn't keep his Mum off his back that much, is that what you mean?"

Lucius chuckled, and let it pass. "That must be what I mean. More tea?"

"Formidable woman, Molly Weasley," Severus said, and thought of Bella.

"Do you think it's too late to send flowers for ridding us of an inconvenience?" Lucius asked, making Hermione choke on her tea.

Severus tipped his head to one side, considering the point, then shook his head. "I think so. These things are always best done immediately after the event, or people might suspect your motives."

"It's a suspicious world," Lucius said. "Which is mostly useful, and occasionally irritating, but when, once in a while, one wants to do something truly selfless and generous, it's a shame to have one's motives doubted."

"It's the rarity that confuses people." Severus selected a scone for himself, deftly split it in two, and reached for the jam pot. "You could try being nice to people in general, even to people you don't want something from and poor people; you might even find that they start to trust you after a while."

Lucius looked horrified and amused in equal measure. "I think it's a little too late in the day for such drastic action."

"Yes, yes it is," Severus replied. Something flashed in Lucius' eyes, something that would have been hurt in someone else and he realised that Granger was more right than she could have known. Wrapped up in his own ill health, and at a loss to do with himself, he'd failed to notice that Lucius was equally lost. He wasn't the man he'd known for twenty years. He'd been cracked open like a shell, and his soft inner parts were visible, where once there had been nothing but carapace. It was as visceral a shock as the one he'd received when Dumbledore's true colours had been revealed. Lucius was not weak, should not be weak.

And Granger was the one who found the words to carry them over the awkward moment. "Still, the Ministry is populated by idiots, so they'd believe anything."

The fine lines round Lucius' mouth eased, and he laughed, though his eyes were still shadowed. "Very true. Does that mean that your current supervisor continues to be irritating?"

"It does." Hermione nodded.

"I do hope she considers me to be a bad influence," Lucius said.

"She considers us to be conducting an illicit affair, but assures me you won't offer marriage. I'm not sure whether you're supposed to be taking advantage of me, or the other way round. I did deny three perfectly reasonable requests for information last week, on the grounds that the form hadn't been completed in triplicate during the New Moon, so I hope they're beginning to reconsider their opinion of me."

Hermione looked down, carefully applying jam and cream to her scone, and so missed the look of shock and horror that crossed Lucius' face. "You're half my age," he said.

"That's generally considered a matter for congratulation," Severus said airily, and smiled as Lucius' shock faded to be replaced by cold calculation.

"Oh, no one will believe it. Not once they've had a chance to think about it." Hermione waved her knife dismissively. "Surely. It's ridiculous; everyone knows you'd rather take up with a house elf."

Severus didn't like the way Lucius looked at her. He should make some polite demurral, or, if he couldn't bring himself to be that polite, some dismissive comment, not look at the girl as if he were thinking of bedding her.

"I think, on the whole, you are preferable to a house elf."

Hermione didn't look grateful for the compliment, which was a relief.

He shuddered, and drank his cup of tea in one mouthful. This would bear careful watching. So far the signs were propitious, nothing would come of sulky petulance on her side, and visceral repulsion on his, though he would have to play chaperone just in case, and nip anything in the bud.

The conversation turned in less contentious directions. In the end, they did manage to find something in common, and, though they didn't necessarily know the same people to complain about, the Ministry was such that even if the names changed the personalities were the same. Outlining the Ministry's many failings carried them over the remaining scones, and through the eclairs, and even down the long path to the apparition point at the end of the afternoon.

"Thank you for tea," Hermione said politely.

"You're welcome," Lucius said, equally politely. "We hope to see you again, don't we, Severus?"

"What? Yes. I suppose."

"I'd like that," she said, and Severus believed her, as unlikely as it sounded. Another cold finger of worry ran down his spine.

His sense of impending doom was only exacerbated when Lucius turned to him, once the echoes of Granger's apparation had faded, and asked, "You don't think I'm becoming obvious, do you? Losing my touch?"

"You've always been bloody obvious to me," Severus said repressively. And it was true, or had been.

Now he had only the vaguest idea of what was going on under those blond locks, but what he could gather worried him. Severus had determined to live a quiet life in future, and any sort of alliance between the fading hope of the Purebloods and the rising hope of the Muggleborns was going to cause trouble. Bedding, he thought, was likely to be the least risky sort of alliance, born of boredom and loneliness on both sides rather than real affection or commonality and would quickly fade. A political one would be disastrous. Granger might not be corruptible, but she could cause enough damage just by being fair and just. The Wizarding World wasn't built for those kinds of ideas.

He trailed after his friend as they returned to the house, and he wondered exactly what he had done to deserve this. He was about to get screwed over yet again.

Was it too much to hope that Sod's law could find some other poor bastard to toy with this time?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three Exceptio Probat Regulum

Lucius disapproved of Muggle ways in general, but there was one practice that he was grateful for.

Probation.

It wasn't so much fun that he wanted to continue it beyond the year's anniversary of his third trial though.

One of the first difficulties that the Ministry had faced after the War was what to do with Voldemort's supporters, and this had spawned its own subset of problems. Wearing the Dark Mark turned out not to be much of an indicia of guilt, when so many claimed to have been forced to do so, and when so many with bare arms had behaved so badly. It was clear they'd have a hard time finding a Wizengamot capable of sitting in judgement of their peers, unless you thought that being equally mired in complicity was an advantage when it came to administering justice. They were peers indeed.

There had been a rush from all parties to demonstrate how squeaky clean they had been, but only the Malfoys had their own pet reporter. Skeeter had done them proud, with tales of their suffering at the hands of the Dark Lord, Narcissa's bravery in defying the Dark Lord, and Draco's ordeals. They weren't heroes, but neither were they absolute villains. That role could comfortably be given to the dead, like Bella, and the missing. No one could say that they had raised a wand to help Voldemort at the final battle.

So, the Malfoys were placed on probation for one year, and now his term was up. He wasn't to be honoured with a full Wizengamot hearing this time, just a quick meeting with a harassed witch in a poky room on a shabby corridor somewhere in the depths of level eight.

That had been the plan, anyway, and he'd paid a pretty knut to make sure that the witch would be harassed, and only moderately intelligent. What he got was a very harassed witch indeed, and Ronald Weasley glaring at him across the table. He wondered if he were being glared at for the crime of being a Malfoy, or had Miss Granger been blabbing.

"What an unexpected pleasure, Mr Weasley," Lucius said, and took a seat. "It was only last week that we ran into each other."

Ron scowled, but no more than might be expected; Granger had been discreet.

And he made a note to consider the implications of that later when he could afford to be distracted from the matter at hand, because there was leverage there if he wasn't mistaken and it would be a shame to waste it on a red-haired buffoon like Weasley.

"Shall we begin?" Lucius asked.

"I'm in charge here, and I get to say when we start," Ron replied, his scowl deepening. The witch beside him was expressionless. Lucius smiled at her, and nodded his head in greeting. Her lips twitched, his message received.

"Mr Malfoy," she said, cutting across Weasley, "you've been brought here for a review of your probationary status. My name is Mrs Sweet, and I am the case manager assigned to you. I'd like to reassure you that it's a mere formality - there's nothing here to give me any reason not to release you from your probation conditions. However..."

"However, there are procedures to be followed, I do understand." His tone was neither warm nor friendly, but it did tangentially touch on respectful, acknowledging her as the one with the power in the room, the one who had to be propitiated. Weasley missed most of it, but even he noticed that Lucius was being polite to his Ministry official.

"Not so fast," he said, with thinly veiled triumph. "The Aurory has evidence that Mr Malfoy has been bribing Ministry officials to get an easier ride."

Your ex-lover calls me Uncle Lucius, he thought, and smiled.

Weasley couldn't tell what he was smiling at, but it unsettled him.

"I think not," Lucius said, his smile not wavering.

"I saw you with my own eyes," Ron replied, puffing up like some small, furry animal trying to face down a dangerous predator merely by looking larger, something that time would take care of on its own, judging by the incipient thickening around his middle.

"I think not," Lucius said again, and turned to the witch. "Madam Sweet, you were saying…?"

"You've been attending your monthly meetings promptly and complied with all requests to be questioned under Veritaserum about your current activities," she said, reading from the papers in front of her. "We're very pleased with you."

"Veritaserum isn't infallible," Weasley said.

"It is, however, the approved method set down by the Wizengamot for dealing with these cases, and, as such, will have to do." Madam Sweet's tone was polite, but with a hint of iron. It reminded Lucius of Minerva McGonagall at a Governor's meeting, getting ready to lay down the law and block anything that would harm her school.

An honest witch, then. How entertaining. It seemed to be his fate to be running into them more and more these days.

Weasley let out a long sigh. "If you say so, Mrs Sweet."

"Don't take that tone of voice to me, young man," she snapped. "You may have helped bring down Voldemort, but you're barely out of nappies, and I'll thank you to take a more respectful tone to your elders, even if you can't bring yourself to think of them as your betters."

Lucius examined the wall behind his interlocutors. It was a very unpleasant shade of green. It offended his sensibilities, almost as much as Weasley's effrontery offended Mrs Sweet.

"Now, as I was saying, you've complied with all of the Ministry's requirements, so, unless the Aurory has some evidence that it wishes to present that is germane to this meeting - and by germane, young man, I mean something that has relevance, and not something teutonic - that might show that you should be kept on probation for a longer period, then this will be the last time that we meet." Mrs Sweet ruffled up the papers in front of her, using the desk to square off the edges.

"I do have some queries, as a matter of fact," Weasley said. He was aiming for arctic politeness, and only managed sulky with a hint of frost. "As you say, last week we bumped into each other at the Fat Goose, where you were lunching with one Scrifkin, is that correct?"

"That is correct," Lucius replied gravely. "There is no reason for me to deny it. I was there, and there are no rules prohibiting taking lunch with an old acquaintance."

"Scrifkin is the Ministry official in charge of monitoring entry and exit into the country of undesirables being monitored by the Ministry. Which includes all of your family."

"Is he? I'm afraid I didn't really discuss work with him. I find that such an indigestible topic over lunch quite ruins my appetite."

"So you weren't trying to keep track of your son's movements?" Ron said.

Lucius tilted his head, striking a pose of Careful Thought. "Now why would I need to do that? All I would have to do is speak to my son, as I am allowed to do, and he would tell me."

"Perhaps, if he were speaking to you..."

"My son completed his education abroad, that is all. It would be a mistake to read anything into that other than Beauxbatons offering the curriculum that we thought best suited to him."

"I can see that that would be important to you," Ron said, finally achieving the dry, ironic tones he'd been striving for. "And that it had nothing to do with Hogwarts refusing to take him back."

"I take it you haven't discussed this with Minerva then?" Lucius drawled. "Perhaps that would be wise, before you leap to conclusions."

Weasley stilled for a moment, then his belief that he alone had access to all the verities in the Universe reasserted itself.

Lucius could almost see the words 'sez you' trembling on Weasley's lips. "Is there a point to this?" he asked. "Some smattering of illegality that you can prove, or will you keep bringing up innuendo and gossip in the hopes that I'm going to crack, admit to something illegal, and offer myself up to the delights of Azkaban again. It's a tactic doomed to fail for two reasons, Mr Weasley. In the first place, you really aren't that good at interrogation. And, in the second place, I really haven't been doing anything illegal. If you won't trust in my innate goodness, at least believe that I am bright enough to wait until my probation is over before commencing any new, dark plots."

Two bright spots of colour appeared on Weasley's cheeks. "You, Mr Malfoy, are arrogant enough to think that you would get away with it."

"I only wish I were half as successful at plotting as you seem to consider," Lucius replied, suddenly weary of the whole business. He wanted to go home and sit in the Conservatory and admire his orchids. He didn't like the look Weasley gave him, suspicion fading to something that looked more like pity. He'd fallen low indeed if an upstart Weasley pitied him.

"Is there anything else you wanted to ask Mr Malfoy," Madame Sweet asked, and Weasley shook his head.

Lucius rose, and Weasley and Madame Sweet followed suit. The folder of papers Weasley had been clutching throughout the interview fell to the floor. Uppermost was a picture of his son and wife, sitting at a table somewhere in the sun. That was shock enough, though he knew they would be under surveillance even in France. As he watched, some man entered the scene from the left, and kissed his wife on the cheek before tugging a chair out and taking a seat.

"I'm sorry," Weasley said, crouching down to gather the papers up. "You weren't supposed to see these."

Lucius had assumed his wife would find someone to keep her company; he had not expected to be confronted with the evidence so soon.

"I've an appointment to see them both tomorrow about their probation," Weasley said.

Lucius looked at him blankly. He hadn't known, and he hadn't the strength to pretend that he'd known.

Fallen low indeed.

He'd expected to celebrate his freedom, and had ordered a special lunch from the Elves. He walked into the dining room, collected the bottle of champagne chilling in its bucket and opened it manually, not trusting to control his magic.

Severus, having heard footsteps, stood by the door. He said nothing, and Lucius wondered how bad he must look to have silenced him.

"I have completed my probation successfully," he said, then took a swig of champagne from the bottle. "My wife and son should also do so."

Severus looked wary. "If the news is so good, then why this...?"

"Their appointment is tomorrow."

"And you didn't know."

He'd always been sharp, Lucius thought. Which had tended to make him unpopular in the ranks of the Dark Lord – no one liked to have the weak points of a plan pointed out in public, other than the Dark Lord, who only appreciated the pointing out when it was someone else's plan.

Lucius couldn't bear the look of sympathy on Severus' face. "If you'll excuse me, I really need to go and commune with my Malfoy ancestors for a while. Help yourself to the oysters; they really are superb."

Severus didn't stop him as he strode through the door, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted him to or not. A bloody good argument would soothe his soul, but Severus was ill and his guest, and there was too much danger of hearing the truth from him about how he'd brought it all on himself. He'd had enough truth for one day, probably for a lifetime. It was time to put the rosy glow of alcohol between him and reality.

Narcissa had thought the Malfoy picture gallery ostentatious, and had said so. He supposed it was compared to a tattered tapestry with large holes burned into it. It also represented everything that he'd been fighting for – family, status, honour, and power. It looked almost as shabby as the Black tapestry now: hollow and tawdry.

"Afternoon," he said, and a murmur of responses echoed round the room.

He took another pull at the champagne bottle, prompting one distant relative to say something about sottishness. They were quickly hushed. Malfoys, as a rule, tended to think that they could do as they damned well please, and if that meant drinking champagne out of the bottle and before the sun had risen over the yard arm, no one was going to say anything unless the vintage selected was of an inferior quality.

Malfoys had standards, if not morals.

"I'm just wondering whether it was all worth it," Lucius announced.

The portraits glanced at each other uneasily. They weren't given to existential angst much, and tended to give practical advice on poisoning and how to arrange guests round a table according to rank, sometimes at the same dinner table.

Lucius wasn't looking for answers though. He just wanted the appearance of an audience, whilst he whinged his way through the list of things that were irritating him, which was pretty much the same as anyone else in the same situation. No one asks for advice because they are interested in the other person's point of view; they do it to hear their own opinion endorsed. "Because I'm thinking ...not," he continued. "Not worth it at all."

"What wasn't worth it?" asked his Great Great Aunt Mildred.

"The seeking after glory," he replied, and slurped more champagne.

"The seeking never is," said Mildred. "It's the getting that's worth it."

Lucius sniggered like a fourteen year old hearing his first dirty joke. "A good point. And, perhaps, if I'd achieved the glory my wife wouldn't be seeing someone else. Not that seeing someone else is the issue, is it? She can look at who she likes, even if it is across a table, over lunch, and rather more fondly than is right for a married woman. It's when she goes beyond seeing."

He took another swig, and stepped carefully forward, deliberately not putting out a steadying hand to the wall. The room did not spin, there weren't two of anything, unless you counted the Louis chairs, and there actually were two of those, so he wasn't drunk.

Not yet.

He took another three or four gulps at the bottle, then flopped into one of the gilded chairs.

"And she has."

The portraits didn't say anything to that. There really wasn't a lot to say: sorry to hear your wife is cheating on you is the sort of thing best conveyed by subtle gestures and silence rather than out loud and in specific terms.

Lucius cocked his head, surveying his ancestors. This motley group of wastrels, thugs and libertines were the ornaments on his family tree, and the foundation of his claim to be Pureblood and superior.

Obviously, he was superior, but looking at this bunch of wastrels, it was hard to justify this assertion historically speaking.

Opposite him, over the central marble fireplace, was a huge portrait. The First Malfoy, or so he liked to style himself, changing the family name from Malefoi to show that they were English through and through even though they'd come over with William the Bastard.

The Malfoys were big on tradition, and only the dreadful behaviour of the French peasantry could have provoked them into making the alteration, a mere 700 years after their arrival.

They'd kept the French motto though. There was no need to rush into hasty change: Mal en a pris à qui m'en a pris, which was only two steps removed from having avada as your motto.

"You don't say much." Lucius noted the slight slur to his words; at last the bloody stuff was beginning to kick in. "No words of wisdom to offer your descendent?"

The portrait didn't so much as open an eye. Lucius couldn't remember an occasion when the stuck up arse ever had said anything. Miserable sod. Lucius raised the bottle towards Le Premier Malfoy, and then took another couple of gulps.

"Are you telling me that Cissa has left you?" Mildred asked, breaking into the rather nice bout of tristesse he had going.

"Not yet," he replied. "But she will. Tomorrow, I think."

"Bloody disgrace," said one fat, pimply little man from the corner. Lucius blinked at him. There was no way he was a Malfoy. Not with skin like that. "Have you picked out a poison yet?"

"_Fuck_. _Off_." Lucius snarl gave the words all the power of a hex.

"_Well_," said Pimple-face.

"If you want to remain that way, I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or I will take you into the gardens and leave you there to rot."

Pimple-face muttered to himself, but only broken sentences were audible. "I was only making a suggestion...surely you can see...better than a scandal like a divorce."

A glare from Lucius shut him up completely, and he hid in the back of his portrait behind some bookshelves, pretending to be absorbed in a heavy book.

"Don't mind him," said Mildred. "Married into the family in the eighteenth century, and the wedding contracts specified he should have a place on the wall. The marriage didn't last long, and he got his wish a bit sooner than he anticipated. His widow remarried very quickly, going for someone younger, prettier and better in bed by all accounts, and bloody good luck to her! But it's made him a bit bitter."

Pimple-face scowled. "You don't mention the way that she helped to my place on this wall," he said bitterly. "I should have known better than to marry someone called Lucretia."

Lucius had no sympathy for him. He was keeping it all for himself.

"Doesn't mean he hasn't a point, mind," Mildred continued. "Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. You have to do something about it; the question is: what?"

"I will not be poisoning my wife," Lucius said icily. "There will be a divorce, and it will be sodding civil, and we will behave like adults for the sake of Draco. And I will not hear a word against her, do I make myself clear?"

The portraits all nodded. "Quite right, boy," Mildred said. "You'll keep the gossip to a minimum that way. Give you time to find a younger lover to take up with and make it look as if you're the one who has decided to move on."

"Do you think so?" Lucius asked, turning bleary eyes on her.

"At the least you should be able to muddy the waters. I'm sure you'd rather be portrayed as a heartless bastard than a cuckold."

Lucius grunted.

"Standard Malfoy marriage contracts?"

"Yes," he replied, his brain stuttering into life. "So the usual provisions about adultery are in there. Technically, she's entitled to nothing if I divorce her on those grounds. My father insisted. Remind me to move his portrait somewhere with a better view, the old bastard."

He took another swig of champagne, eyes narrowing as he considered his options. Narcissa would be hoping to keep the fact she'd strayed secret, so there would be a narrow window of opportunity in which to agree a settlement that would be generous but not ruinous. She might even be grateful that he wasn't insisting on the strict letter of the contracts, which would be more leverage to persuade Draco that his father wasn't a monster.

There would have to be evidence, of course. And he needed to know who this man was to make sure he wasn't a risk to either his wife or son.

"Indeed." Mildred grinned at him. "Though you will have to put up with him saying 'I told you so'. Still, that's what family are for, isn't it?"

"I'll remember that." Lucius laughed. "Thank you, Mildred. You remind me that it is a Malfoy's duty to always have a Plan B."

He levered himself out of his seat, and went to find Severus and his lunch. He wasn't going to face Cissa with a hangover.

Being pitied by Weasley had its advantages. At least he was prepared for the Owl he received from his wife the next day requesting a meeting.

It confirmed what he had suspected. A woman looking to rekindle her marriage would have turned up at their home, not make an appointment to call where she should have a right to enter.

He replied, suggesting that the afternoon would be convenient, which gave him time to consult his lawyers about suitable terms. Suitable by his lights anyway, if not his wife's.

She arrived by floo. The elves showed her into the library, where Lucius was waiting for her. He didn't offer her a drink, or a seat.

"You know why I'm here then," she said.

"I do," he replied, and pushed the papers he'd had prepared across the desk for her to take. She read them, with a slight frown marring her countenance.

"You don't seem happy, my dear," he said.

She looked up at him, her frown deepening. "This is … not generous."

"They are rather more than you are entitled to, and will allow you to live a life of comfort in France."

"And if I wanted to return to England?"

"That's a matter for you," he replied. "But perhaps you'd like to consult your inamorata on that topic – I naturally assumed you would choose to remain with him."

"How did you find out?" she asked.

"The Ministry has been keeping an eye on you, and naturally…" He opened his palms in an expansive gesture.

"I could divorce you on other grounds."

"You could," he agreed. "But the prospect of some small embarrassment is not sufficient to make me offer more."

She ran her finger in a small circle on the fine mahogany table. "Small; the whole of the Wizarding World knowing how the loss of your wand affected you?"

"Small," he said flatly. "A rumour easily dispelled. All it would take is being seen in the company of a younger witch on a few occasions, and the public would draw the natural conclusion that your allegations were the bitter ramblings of a spurned, older woman."

She looked at him, eyes flickering over his face, then dipped down to the papers again. "How did it come to this?" she said softly.

"We both made mistakes," he replied. "Mine were the worse ones, I'll admit."

She looked up, startled.

"Cissa, the offer is reasonable. I'm not looking to beggar you, but I'm not prepared to be reduced to penury either. My guilt doesn't extend that far. I need working capital to bring the Malfoy name back to prominence, so that there is something for Draco to return to."

"Always the bloody Malfoy name," she said, sounding more tired than angry. "Do you think that Draco cares anything about that, or I?"

"We have run too long with the wolves to expect a welcome from the sheep." Lucius took a deep breath, then expelled it slowly, fighting for some measure of restraint. "He may not care now, but what doesn't seem important at nineteen, will be critical at thirty."

Narcissa frowned, but didn't reply, effectively conceding the point. "Will you come and see him?"

"If he wants me to."

"Oh, Lucius, of course he wants to see you." She picked up the papers, and tucked them into her handbag. "I'll take these to show to my lawyer, and then we can discuss it again when you visit. I think we should tell Draco about the divorce together."

Lucius nodded, aware that was better than he deserved. "If you have any suggestions as to amendments, let me know. I do want to be ... reasonable. And you will always be able to call on me, if you need me.

"Thank you, that means a lot." She dipped her head in acknowledgement, then gave him that bright, impersonal smile she bestowed on distant acquaintances.

"Would you like to see Severus before you go?" he asked.

"That would be pleasant."

It hurt more than he expected to sit at the same table as his wife and take over the rites and ceremonies of hostess as well as host, returning politeness for politeness, but at least they would continue to present a united front to the rest of the world.


	4. Chapter 4

In the weeks that followed her lunch with Lucius, there was a slight improvement at work, but then the Malfoy effect began to wear off and the Hyena reverted to type.

It took Hermione another week to crack.

She went out one weekend, found herself a plastic model of a hyena, and very carefully killed it. First, she melted its feet, then sliced off its tail, working her way methodically along and up the body until there was nothing left but the head.

"You," she said firmly to the grinning face, with its lolling tongue, "have asked for this. And now, you're going to get it." She took a long pin, then slid it into the mouth, up through the skull, pinning the head to the notice board she used to keep track of her life.

It was going to be her reminder, something she would see as she looked at her To Do list, something to encourage her to find a way out of the department.

Then she started on her plan.

She read a pile of self-help books, and decided that they were mostly pish, and that there was no point surrendering to the Universe and hoping it would give you what you wanted. What you needed was to get hold of the Universe by the throat and squeeze it until it gave you what you wanted.

So then she turned to books on business strategy. She drew diagrams of the people in her Department and all the other people they were connected to until she had a huge Map of Influence that spread over the parchment like the web of a spider dosed on LSD. Mere parchment wasn't enough to contain all the information, so she created a charm that could record it. People showed as blobs of light, that changed colour according to whatever attribute she was interested in – house affiliation, family connections, or just friendships – linked by lines of influence that could be traced between departments.

It hovered in her small flat, shimmering and twisting as she traced out what she knew.

It highlighted what she already knew: Pureblood relationships still dominated the Ministry, and she didn't have enough information about those to be able to put them on her Map.

She filled in what she could guess at, tracing familial connections across three generations and marking them with red and lots of question marks. She supposed that they might fight like cat and dog amongst themselves, but when there was a Muggleborn interloper they would gang up on her, rather like her Aunty Marjory and her mother.

She had wondered about asking Lucius, but had quickly dismissed that. It was bad enough that, whenever the Hyena got too bad, she would hear his voice whispering something snide and dismissive in her ear.

It was a reverse-conscience, she decided.

There were Muggle films that had little angels and devils sitting on the character's shoulders, persuading them to do this or that. Lucius Malfoy definitely came under the heading of Devil, and she didn't have a long spoon.

There was a pattern, she saw, even with half the information. Muggle affairs was surprisingly dominated by Purebloods, or their Halfblood fellow travellers.

She found that quite cheering in an odd way. She'd been right to think that it was somewhere that was influential, but she'd underestimated how tightly the Pureblood stranglehold had been on the department.

Not a mistake she would make again.

The damned place needed reforming – the whole Ministry did - but it could only be done from the top down and not from within, which meant she needed to get to be three posts more senior to department head before she could even think about it.

Her eyes tracked down the spider's web, searching out a department in the same section, with a greater preponderance of Muggleborns and which would still give her a chance to shine. On the way, she noticed how many deputy heads of department there were that were female, Muggleborn and overdue promotion. If there was an old boy's network, it looked to her as if there could be a young woman's network to equal it.

Her eye tracked further down. There, that would do – the Goblin Liaison Office. Now a disregarded backwater, but there was potential for trouble, especially with the way the Goblins were agitating for equal rights.

That was her next job, and all she had to do now was persuade the Hyena to let her go. As she cast a concealing charm over the Map it occurred to her that this was how Snape and Malfoy thought all of the time.

Stage one of her budding career as Machiavellan plotter was put into effect the next day. She put in a request for a transfer. There was no need to waste plotting energy on something that could be achieved easily.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," the Hyena said, smiling as insincerely as Umbridge. "But I can't allow this."

"Because I'm too important to the Department to let me go?" Hermione asked.

"Certainly not. Because you've not been here long enough – employees who change their jobs as frequently as they change their robes are doing untold damage to their careers. I'm sure Mr Malfoy would agree with me – though, perhaps you haven't seen him recently?"

"You've seen the papers," Hermione replied. The Malfoy divorce was front page news.

The Hyena looked at her through narrowed eyes. "I still say he'll never marry you."

Hermione shrugged.

"In the meantime, get back to work. I want that report finished before the end of the week."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, and smiled pleasantly, though it felt like her jaw was breaking.

And that was where it might have ended if it were not for Arthur's interference.

Almost everything in the Weasley household was Arthur's fault on general principle, but for once it really was true.

Despite being dropped from girlfriend duties, Hermione was still expected to attend the Weasley Sunday dinner at least once a month. After the war, they'd all felt the need to cling together, and it had been the perfect excuse to keep a discreet eye on George. If a Weasley was in Floo distance, he was expected to turn up, and if he had a significant other, he was expected to bring them too.

It was often a very crowded table, this weekend being no different, and Hermione found herself wedged between Arthur and Ron – Ron had been pushed into exile with his father because he wasn't doing his duty and settling down with a steady young girl, and Arthur had done something to irritate Molly, which left Hermione to wonder what it was that she'd done to make the Weasley Matriarch demote her.

She slipped into her chair and allowed the babble from the rest of the table to wash over her.

Ron passed her the potatoes without a word.

"What's up?" she said.

"Don't know what you mean."

"This is what you always do," she replied, spearing a potato with her fork. "Sulk about something, rather than talk about it. I recognise the signs."

He glared at her. "_You_ know."

"Yes, that was the other thing you did," she said calmly. "And then I remind you that I haven't mastered Legilimency yet, and, eventually, when you get even more irritable you tell me what it is that I'm supposed to have done."

A smile flickered across his face. "Yeah, s'pose."

"So?" she said, prodding him into saying something.

"So, why didn't you tell me that you'd been up to Malfoy Manor?"

"The Ministry's keeping a close eye on him, then."

"And?"

"I wanted to see how Professor Snape was getting on."

Ron passed her the carrots, and helped himself to the peas. "And when exactly did you get an invitation to go and see him?"

"When I had lunch with Lucius," she said sweetly.

Ron choked on his mouthful of chicken.

"You remember when you left me to pay the bill…?"

Ron swallowed his food, and looked at her, eyes wide. "What?"

"He offered to pay the bill, if I'd visit Professor Snape. It seemed the better choice than finding out if the rumours about what happens to those who don't pay their bills at the Fat Goose are true."

"How was he?" he asked.

"He seems well enough, if a bit tired still." She didn't think that Professor Snape would want the details widely known, and she wasn't sure whether Ron would feel the urge to pass on what she told him to others in the Ministry.

Ron turned his attention back to his dinner, thinking things through. The old Ron, the thoughtless Ron who would have flown off the handle, had faded after a year in the workplace and of having to wash his own socks.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" he said. "I don't like you hanging round the Malfoys, but I can see that you'd want to do right by Snape. He may have been a bastard, but…"

Hermione nodded, and put a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently before letting go.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Did I hear you say that you'd been to see Professor Snape? That's good of you."

"Someone had to," Hermione replied, surprised by the edge in her voice.

"I'm sure your kind heart does you credit." Arthur glanced across at Ron. "Still, I'm not sure it's wise to associate with him, or his friends."

Hermione hadn't intended to go back for another visit, but there was something about the calm way that Arthur was prepared to dismiss Professor Snape as unworthy of her time that kept her quiet.

"I know that Harry spoke up for him, but you have to wonder what he's doing hanging round with Lucius. You know what they say about birds of a feather."

"I think," Hermione said, wondering when Arthur had become so judgemental, "that he didn't have a lot of choice. No one was queuing up to take him in."

"Funny that, him being such a pleasant chap," Ron muttered, and was rewarded with Hermione's elbow in his ribs.

"Maybe so." Arthur settled back in his chair. "I just think that you ought to be very careful. The Ministry won't look kindly on someone who spends time with that kind of person."

"I know the Ministry is stupid," she said, "but even they would have difficulty in believing that there was something going on between us."

Arthur choked, and Hermione realised how that sounded. "I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered that everyone thinks that Lucius Malfoy's interest in me could only be sexual," she said.

"Either way you'll end up fucked," Ron murmured, and Hermione bit back a giggle.

"I don't know why Lucius would be interested in you," Arthur replied, drawing back from his relaxed position with his elbows on the table. "But whatever reason he has, it's unlikely to be for your benefit."

"He's still on probation isn't he?" Hermione asked, trying to turn the conversation in another direction.

"No." Ron shook his head. "We had to let him go last week. Very smug about it he was too. Bastard."

"That's Malfoy for you," Arthur said.

"He was polite enough to me," Hermione said, and shrugged. He hadn't seemed smug to her at all, just tired.

"He'll be after something though, maybe he'll want to use your influence at the Ministry," Ron replied.

Hermione laughed. "What influence? I've got none."

"You do an important job at the Ministry." Arthur rubbed his fingers over his mouth, pulling at his lower lip. "And Malfoy would want to keep an eye on what the Muggle Liaison department was up to."

"Then he'd be much better off talking to someone else. I don't know anything, and I'm not likely to know anything – and, what's more, he knows this, because I told him."

"I don't understand," Arthur said. "Challivant said you were doing good work, gave you a good review before he left to go to his new department, and said you'd come up with a couple of good ideas on the Trenches project."

"Ideas?" Hermione felt as if she'd been slapped. She'd known that she'd been left in the lurch by her old boss, but hadn't imagined that he bastard had been so two-faced as to claim her ideas as his. "A few ideas? I ran the whole project."

"Now, Hermione, I'm sure it felt like that, but I've worked with Challivant for several years, and he's a reliable chap," Arthur said. "I'm sure he was just encouraging you by overvaluing your contribution."

"Overvaluing?" Hermione snapped. "I created all the charms. Without my contribution, as you put it, they would never have been able to get the electricity to work with magic without an explosion."

"Challivant wouldn't lie," Arthur said stubbornly.

"Come on, Dad. If Hermione said she did it, she did it," Ron said.

Arthur shook his head. "I know you think that because of the War, you should be entitled to special treatment but that's not right, Hermione. You'll just have to work your passage, the same as everyone else."

"I'm sorry?"

"Challivant did mention that you really weren't a team player, and that's why we thought that you could do with another couple of years at your current level. Give you a chance to fit in with Ministry ways." Arthur smiled at her hopefully, just like Ron used to when he knew he'd done something that would irritate her and was hoping for the best.

If looks could kill, Hermione's potatoes would have gone up in flames. "In that case, I think it might be time for me to move to another department. I wouldn't want to work somewhere that people didn't have confidence in my abilities."

"There's no need to be like that." Arthur shifted uneasily on his chair. "Sylvie told me that you'd requested a transfer, but I agree with her, moving departments so early in your career would look bad."

"Who for?" she asked quietly. "You or me?"

Molly insisted that Arthur propose a toast, and the chance to talk about her career passed leaving Hermione feeling grumpy, cheated, and even more powerless than ever.

The three of them had a ritual. At some point in every Weasley gathering they would slip away, leaving the noise and hubbub behind, and sit on the back step and just talk.

It had lasted through Ginny going out with Harry, and her clinging stage when she didn't want to let him out of her sight for too long in case he ran off again. And it lasted through Hermione her going out with Ron, and their determination not to exclude Harry. And it had even lasted through her not going out with Ron, and wanting to throttle him whenever she saw him, and if it could last through that, it seemed that it would last through anything.

"Watch it, she's in a bad mood," Ron said to Harry, jerking his head in Hermione's direction on the top step.

"Bugger off," she replied, but with no heat in it. "I'm having a shit time at work, and people think I've turned into Mata Hari or something."

Both boys looked puzzled at the Muggle reference.

"I don't know what this Mata Hari thing is, but you've definitely lost your gobstones." Ron shook his head sadly, mourning how far his friend had fallen. "She's only started hanging out with Malfoy."

"I thought Draco was in France," Harry said.

"He is. Our Herms has taken up with his dad." Ron looked at Harry, whose face darkened, and added hastily, "Only teasing mate, she's been visiting Snape, who's living at the Manor."

"Git," Hermione said, and pushed Ron with her foot. "Not that it's any business of yours if I did take up with Lucius, or Snape, or both of them, if I bloody well felt like it."

Harry's answering grin was a little uneasy. "You don't feel like it though, do you? I mean they're ancient."

"That's why you'd want both of them. You know..." Ron wiggled his fingers through the air in a way that was supposed to conjure up visions of convoluted – if not athletic, on account of the old age of the participants – sexual positions.

"Git," Hermione said again, and pushed harder with her foot. "Just because you've been letching after older women."

"Have not," he said indignantly, batting her foot away. "Angelina is more mature, I grant you –"

"Which is a good thing, in your case," Hermione said, interrupting.

" – but that's not the same thing as being an older woman. It's a couple of years, not a couple of decades."

"Yeah, well, I think it takes those extra decades for a boy to grow up enough to be worthwhile." Hermione looked at the boys and considered them as potential partners – not for her, she'd tried that with Ron and his faults were manifest – and found them wanting.

They were kind and generous, loyal and supportive, which were all good things that she valued in them as friends. They would also be good attributes in a boyfriend, but they were so wet behind the ears sometimes. It wasn't just that they were the sort of boy who would forget your anniversary unless you reminded them four times in the week leading up to it, though they were. It was that, somehow, despite all they'd been through in the war, they'd somehow remained innocent and enthusiastic, like good-natured puppies. They made her feel old, sometimes, as if she were more their mother, reminding them to wipe their noses, than a friend.

She didn't want to have to do the thinking for the man in her life. To be fair to Ron, he hadn't wanted her to do the thinking for him either, he just had never seemed willing to do his own thinking either.

"I hear Lucius was in France last week," Harry said, his brow still furrowed. "Visiting Draco and Narcissa. I wonder if Draco's going to come back to England?"

Hermione shrugged. "Shouldn't think so, do you? There's not a lot to come back to what with the Ministry and its stupid clampdowns."

Harry's frown deepened. "We need to bring all the death eaters to book, Hermione. Surely you agree with that?"

"Mostly," she said. "Then again, I just think it's a bit of sticking plaster stuffed over the top of the real issues. They'll be another lot of death eaters along in a couple of years."

"You are a cheerful soul." Ron leaned back against the step, and patted her on the knee. "You really need to get out of that department."

"I'm trying," she said. "God knows."

"I can't believe your old boss did that to you." Ron shook his head. "What a bastard."

"What?" asked Harry. His frown grew more and more pronounced as Hermione recounted the discussion over dinner. "Bastard."

"That's what I said," Ron pointed out.

"We'll have a look over his file tomorrow, see if there's something we can pin on him," Harry said, ignoring Ron. "No one messes with our Hermione."

Hermione grinned. Last month, before lunch with Lucius, she might have lectured them on the need to be honest and impartial. Now she'd settle for blackmail material. If merely talking to someone for a couple of hours wrought that kind of change in her, then another visit for afternoon tea was called for.

"And then we ought to go and see Snape, and see how he is," Harry said. "It's only right."

"Are you bonkers, mate?" Ron replied, looking first at Harry then Hermione. "Tell him he's gone bonkers."

"You mean you don't want to get a look round the inside of Malfoy Manor?" Harry grinned at Ron.

Ron's answering smile was beatific. "And all without a warrant. Brilliant."

"You get nice cakes," Hermione said. "It's worth it for that alone."

"That settles it, then." Ron nodded. "We'll wangle an invite, case the joint, and snaffle all the cakes. It'll be like old times, the three of us."

Hermione shivered. Not too much like old times she hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five – The World is your Oyster.

Breakfast at Malfoy Manor was a civilised affair, conducted at a sensible hour. The addition of Severus to the household, coupled with the subtraction of Narcissa, had seen the menu shift away from fruit, cereals and pastries to something rather more reminiscent of Hogwarts' breakfasts: five varieties of egg, three sorts of bacon, all the toast you could eat and a different type of sausage every day.

Severus took his coffee black and strong, despite the best advice of the healers that he should take something less powerful. Lucius took his tea weak and milky. Both viewed the other as odd in their preferences.

After the first course, and whilst the tea was settling, Lucius would open the day's Owl post. Severus had only received three pieces of post whilst at the Manor – a note from Draco thanking him for all he had done, one from the Minister saying he was going to call with a pardon, and a circular alleging that they had just the potion to make his girlfriend ecstatic by making his penis bigger.

As if he couldn't make his own potions, if that was what was required to make a woman happy, though he rather thought a good cheering potion would be more effective and less trouble in the end.

Lucius sifted through the post, arranging it in a series of neat piles. Pile one for rejection, pile two for a polite acceptance, and a third pile that needed more care and thought.

"Severus, this one is for you," Lucius said, and handed him the final letter.

"It's from Potter," he said, taking the letter. "I recognise the handwriting from a hundred atrocious essays." He made no move to open it, turning it over in his hands.

"I find it helps if you open in the envelope when you want to read a letter," Lucius said.

"You read it then." Severus tossed the letter across the table.

Lucius checked the letter for charms and hexes then ran a finger along the flap of the envelope, amused to see that Potter now had some sort of attempt at the family crest on his sealing wax. "Ah, Mr Potter would like to visit us, next weekend if that's convenient. Or, more accurately, he would like to visit you, who he addresses as Mr Snape, so you are worthy of an honorific, even if you are not his Dear."

Severus scowled. "I don't see why I would want to see him."

"No, but I can think of many reasons why he might want to see you, other, and you will pardon me for being cynical here, other than merely wishing to thank you for all that you did for him and his during the war."

"He's heard about Granger coming to call then."

"I would say so. He does anticipate her accompanying himself, and Mr Weasley. It should be entertaining, to say the least."

Severus considered that. "I don't suppose either of them would know what to do with a choice of cutlery. Very well. Why not ask them to lunch."

"I think that having two such august personages honouring me with their presence would justify something a little more ornate than the usual... shall we say, oysters?"

Severus didn't go so far as to grin, but Lucius could tell that he was richly amused by the idea of the two boys wrestling with such complex food. If that was what it took to achieve an improvement in his mood, he would have to find an elf for him to kick.

Rather than go down to the Apparition point to pick up his guests, Lucius arranged for them to be delivered to the Small Dining Room by Portkey. It saved Severus from effort, and limited the two Aurors to a very restricted view of the Manor.

Lucius went forward to greet them, all perfect politeness, shaking their hands in turn. "It's so good of you to visit Severus now that he's recovered enough to receive visitors."

"Yeah," said Weasley, scrubbing his shoe on the back of his trousers in attempt to clean them.

"Likewise," said Potter, who seemed perfectly contented with the state of his shoes, but more worried about whether his palms were sweaty.

"Perhaps you'd care for an aperitif, before lunch?" he enquired, gesturing towards a long, low sideboard with several crystal decanters, and a set of glasses to match. "Cognac, perhaps?"

"I don't really like cognac," Miss Granger said. "I'm sure it's very nice cognac, but utterly wasted on me. I prefer something more rounded, with more body."

It wasn't very nice cognac, but merely passable, as there was no point wasting the good stuff on that pair of philistines.

"Perhaps some white port, then?"

She nodded, and he summoned an elf with a snap of his fingers to fetch the port. Granger frowned a little, and he remembered Draco laughing at her support for House Elves and some ridiculous organisation she had set up to free them. He had better keep the more gory threats to a minimum then.

The elf didn't take long – Lucius didn't reward dawdling – and they were quickly seated at the table, loaded with white linen, more crystal, and a table set for several courses with a bewildering array of forks, spoons, knives, and other oddities.

"I thought we might start with oysters, as a little treat," Lucius said, as the elves deftly inserted the first course in front of the diners. "They are Severus' favourite."

Potter and Weasley stared at their plates. Cognac had no mysteries for them, as veterans of many a Ministry function, but oysters had them completely at a loss. Severus' lips twitched. It was a petty revenge, but some cheap point scoring was evidently cheering him up. Lucius would have to find more people for him to quarrel with, if it brought about such an improvement in his mood.

Miss Granger had no reservations, and opened her first oyster with a practised twist of the wrist. "Muggles think that oysters are an aphrodisiac, did you know?" She looked a bit wild-eyed after that gambit, as she realised that aphrodisiacs weren't the subject of polite conversation.

Potter and Weasley stared harder at their plates, envisaging who know what beastly sexual acts they would be coaxed to perform under the oyster's malign influence, as if they would ever be that fortunate.

"I didn't know that, Miss Granger," Lucius replied, as if he discussed that sort of thing over lunch all the time, which only added to the boys' discomfort. "They aren't used in any sort of potion like that, are they, Severus?"

Severus was a little pink when he replied, "No. Not that I recall."

"Oh, one wonders why they make the connection then." Lucius chose an oyster, neither the largest, nor the smallest, and opened it with the knife.

"I think," Granger said, going even pinker than Severus, but wholly unable to keep information to herself, "that the connection is based on the idea that they resemble female genitalia in erm taste and appearance."

"Ah," said Lucius, and examined his oyster with renewed interest.

"Good god, why would anyone want to eat them then?" Weasley asked, picking up one of the shells and staring at it suspiciously.

"Oh, Ron," Granger said.

"You've had them before," he continued. "Do you think they taste like... you know what?"

"How would I know? I've hardly a basis for comparison," she snapped, and then shot a nervous glance at the two Slytherins.

"What do you mean..." Weasley stopped abruptly, as someone kicked him under the table. Potter, by the looks of things. "Right."

Lucius raised the oyster to his mouth, and tipped the shell until the contents eased their way into his mouth, bringing the rich tang of brine to his taste buds. "I do believe the Muggles have a point," he said, and Weasley turned even greener.

Granger opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

"Miss Granger, do ask whatever it is you want to know – you're among friends here," Lucius said.

Severus snorted, then helped himself to another oyster.

"Well, I was just thinking that no one would ever have thought the day would come when Lucius Malfoy would admit that Muggles were right in anything?" Granger said.

"No one, who has met you, my dear, can doubt that Muggles are capable of great things," he replied, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "You are commonly held to be the greatest witch of her age, are you not? And I believe it."

"Th-thank you," she stammered, and went scarlet.

Severus shot him a hard look, then said repressively, "There wasn't a lot of competition in your year."

Weasley took a deep breath, but Granger patted him on the arm. "It's all right, Ron. What Mr Snape is trying to say, is that I shouldn't take anything that Mr Malfoy says at face value."

"Well, why doesn't he say that then?" Weasley asked, still looking for an argument.

"He did. You just weren't listening carefully enough," Granger replied. "Now try your oysters."

"If you don't like them, I can always have the elves bring you something else," Lucius offered, selecting his next oyster with care.

"No, thank you." Weasley picked up a shell, glanced over at Granger who mouthed something about Voldemort at him, then picked up her knife and showed him what to do.

"My mother raised me to be polite, and always clear my plate." He looked at the glistening meat in the shell, swallowed hard, then tipped it into his mouth. He chewed, once, twice, three times, and his expression lightened. "That's not bad, actually. What are those little black things?"

"Capers," Severus said. "Or possibly pepper, though I assume you know what pepper looks like."

"Capers." Weasley nodded. "I like them, they're tangy."

Weasley attacked the rest of his course with gusto, Potter following his lead eventually and trying one himself. He seemed less keen, and only ate half of his.

Lucius watched the interactions between the trio with interest. Granger and Weasley bickered backwards and forwards, but always with one eye on Potter. He was quieter, more drawn in on himself, but responded periodically to the banter around him. His gaze kept flickering to Severus, then looking away whenever he might be caught openly staring.

He felt a sharp pang, almost physical, suddenly missing Draco, and wondering if he would be content just to chatter like this, and whether he had recovered from the stress of the last year or so. He'd been so quiet the last time Lucius had seen him; quiet and subdued. He'd almost rather that the boy had railed against him, and called him foul names, than that calm resignation.

The rest of the meal was negotiated with little fuss. The boys took their lead from Granger when it came to the choice of glasses and implements, and they made no gross social faux pas. Granger went up in his estimation. It seemed that his father had been wrong, not all Muggles were rude and uncouth.

She even had the good taste to appreciate the stronger cheeses presented with the port.

All told, she had the makings of a good protégé, one for whom he need not feel embarrassed to secure dinner invitations, though sadly in need of education as regards cognac. Witches weren't really expected to know about that sort of thing, but, with her blood, she couldn't afford to be less than knowledgeable about anything.

Weasley hunted down the last morsel of stilton on his plate, consumed the last grape, and then sighed the happy sigh of a man who loved his food and had eaten well. Lucius' opinion was now confirmed that he man would run to fat in later years.

In his experience, people were ruled by one particular pleasure – or vice, depending on how you viewed it – Granger would also be distracted by a new book or piece of information, Weasley by a good dinner, but Potter...? What would he do with himself, now that there wasn't a world needing saving any more?

Lucius dabbed at his lips with his napkin, then placed it neatly over his plate. "I thought we'd take coffee in the Small Drawing Room." Hermione stiffened slightly.

"I haven't forgotten my previous commitment," Lucius said. "It'll be all right."

Hermione swallowed and nodded.

Lucius wasn't sure whether the two boys were oblivious to the exchange, oblique as it was, or deliberately allowing it to pass unremarked. It would be a mistake, he reminded himself, to assume that they were as green as they appeared.

They passed into the Small Drawing Room in a disorderly group. Lucius should have offered his arm to Hermione but he judged that she would be less offended at the slight than at the prospect of physical contact.

A glance passed between the trio, and they took up separate seats. At first, Lucius thought the aim was to isolate him, but he saw the way Potter was staring at Severus whenever he thought he could do so unobserved; it was clear there was unfinished business between the two of them.

Lucius raised an eyebrow at Severus, and flicked a glance at Potter, then back to see Severus' reaction. He looked tired, and beaten for a moment, then nodded slightly. He'd decided to face whatever it was the boy wanted.

"I've heard," said Ron, "that your ... Library is extensive."

Severus looked appalled and amazed in about equal measure. "Don't tell me that you've suddenly taken an interest in reading," he said.

"Ron reads," Hermione said. "Muggle detective fiction, mainly, but he does like a bit of science fiction and fantasy."

"Yeah, it's fascinating what Muggles come up with," Ron said.

"Not subjects the Malfoy collection is noted for comprising," Lucius said dryly. "However, if you wish to look at it, who am I to stand in the way of someone seeking after knowledge. It may even cut down on those nocturnal visits from the Ministry, if you assure yourself of the lack of Dark texts."

Ron didn't flush, just gave Lucius a long, hard look.

"Perhaps Miss Granger would like to see the family portraits instead?" Lucius offered. "They stretch back to the Norman conquest."

Lucius noted the look of concern that the boy gave Hermione; not entirely clueless, though he felt faintly insulted at the notion that he would harm a guest.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I'd like that."

The Library lead off to the right of the main staircase, so Lucius was able to deposit Ron there on the way past, like an unwanted parcel. He gestured to Hermione to proceed him up the stairs.

"To the left," he said. "The right would take you to the bedrooms."

She looked startled, then turned as directed.

He couldn't see her face when she went through the long, panelled doors, but she stopped dead in her tracks, so he assumed she was impressed. By the time he had moved to her side, she had composed herself, looking politely interested and nothing more.

"I'd like you to meet Great Aunt Mildred." Lucius put an arm out to guide her over to Mildred's portrait. "She was a dreadful flirt in her time, and death has done nothing to change that, has it, my dear?"

Mildred cocked her head on one side, and looked at Lucius through long lashes. "I was a very good flirt, I'll have you know, and won't be traduced in my own home."

"My home," Lucius said, with a smile.

"Our home, then," Mildred replied with a toss of her head. She turned her attention to Hermione. "So, have you decided to take my advice then?"

"This is Hermione Granger, she's a friend of Severus'," Lucius replied swiftly, heading off that line of enquiry. Portraits were notorious gossips, and the last thing he wanted was his ancestors queueing up to complain about his choice of Plan B. Judging by the way some of the more disreputable portraits were leering at the poor girl's rear, some of them would rather discuss her attributes and try and get hung on the bedroom wall.

That practice had been ended by Narcissa on the wedding night, and quite right too.

"Advice?" Hermione asked.

"That we should invite someone to the Manor to keep Severus company," Lucius put in swiftly.

"Aye, that was it," Mildred agreed, Family stuck together. "He does mope round a lot. We hardly see him outside the conservatory. There's more to life than flowers."

"I don't know what you expect me to do about that."

"Just talk to him, remind him that he's human, even if he doesn't much feel like it." Mildred frowned. "Lucius does his best, bless him, but he's not much more cheerful himself."

Hermione and Lucius looked at each other with almost equal horror. She, at the thought that she should offer sympathy to Lucius, and he at thought that it might be offered.

Their horror didn't fade, when Mildred said, "Do I know your family, girl?"

"I shouldn't think so; they're muggles," Hermione said, with a hint of bravado.

"Oh." Mildred quickly rallied. "I've never met a muggleborn before. We didn't really have them in my day. Which is a shame; I'm sure you're very nice people really. A credit to your upbringing."

"Thank you," Hermione said gravely, but Lucius could see the tightening of her jaw.

"I'm sorry," he said, aware of just how tired he sounded. "I hadn't thought to …" He'd always been proud of his bloodlines and the history that came with his family; now even that was betraying him.

Mildred put a hand to her throat, and played with her necklace. "Oh dear, have I been rude. I wouldn't want to do that inadvertently." She smiled slyly, as if among co-conspirators. "I would always want to do that deliberately."

Hermione didn't smile back, and Lucius could see the strain of biting back some retort. "I'm sure."

Lucius had never known anyone fail to respond to the charm of his great-great Aunt. He'd modelled himself on her a little when he was younger, though she'd always been more of a flirt than he had ever managed.

Something of his confusion must have showed in his face, and prompted Miss Granger to some quirk of compassion.

"My grandparents are good people, kind people even, and yet they hold views that horrify me. They don't know any better, I suppose," she said, and her hands skated towards her wand. "People are a product of their time, and it's a mistake to judge them too harshly.

"You on the other hand, have no excuses." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Or apologies, either."

"You would like one," Lucius said.

Great Aunt Mildred dropped the pose of fluttering eyelashed ingénue, her eyes hard as she watched the scene. "You have a nerve to ask that in front of the family portraits."

"So?" Hermione didn't waver.

"I had not offered one, as it seemed to me that it was a matter beyond apology." Lucius could feel the eyes of his ancestors boring into him, waiting to see whether he would manage to wriggle out of this. "If one were not to be forthcoming, would you abandon Severus?"

Hermione swallowed hard, then shook her head. "No. I'd prefer not to have anything to do with you, mind you."

"Very understandable," he replied.

She glared at him. "Is there a point to this, other than refusing to say sorry?"

"That isn't the point at all," Lucius replied evenly. "You need to know that you aren't purchasing an apology, and you wouldn't believe me if I said the two were unconnected, would you?"

Hermione's mouth closed with a snap. She was sharp enough to see what he meant.

"I am sorry, for many things. I m sorry for joining Riddle, sorry for the mess he made, sorry for Severus' injuries, but..."

"But what?" she asked, her voice hard and cold.

"That day... I cannot say sorry for that because I would do the same again, I think – anything to protect Draco and Narcissa, and I won't pretend otherwise." He drew his robes closer to him, to cover his shiver. He hadn't felt so exposed and miserable since the death of the Dark Lord. "I could lie to you, and that would make you feel better I'm sure, but I don't think you'd believe me." Honesty was a bitter gift, but it was all he had to offer.

"I hate you," she said. "I'm surprised at how much I hate you, and how much I'd like to hurt you, to do the same thing to you, to hear you scream and sob and beg for mercy."

Lucius felt bile at the back of his throat. "I understand." His lips stretched in a parody of a smile. He seemed to be saying that a lot these days, and the awful truth was that he did, and he wasn't enjoying his bout of empathy one bit. "I cannot tell you how much I regret not killing Bella myself."

"That doesn't reassure me," she said flatly, but something in her eyes looked lighter.

"I cannot say that I am sorry," he said, moved by some strange impulse. "But I acknowledge a debt to you nevertheless."

"And what would I do with one of those?"

Lucius shrugged. "Use it, keep it hanging over my head for years, so that it eats at me; the choice is yours."

She walked a little way further into the gallery, running a finger along the frame of one of the lesser Malfoys who opened their mouth to protest the insult but subsided into silence when Lucius arched an eyebrow at him.

She turned to face him again. "Does this have anything to do with career advice?"

"That is a separate matter, where we could be of mutual assistance to each other. That's business. This is honour."

She looked at him long and hard, assessing his sincerity - for one horrible, horrible moment he thought she was going to deny he had any honour – until she nodded her acceptance. "Very well, a debt, to be called in when I want, how I want, and I can do that now?"

"Yes." He wanted to disapparate. He'd seen the hellish mess Severus had ended up with, though the Unbreakable Vow had been to the advantage of the Malfoys, and he had no doubt she could manage something even more bloody hindering awkward.

"Be a better man," she said. "Nothing less will do."

"Agreed," he said, his throat tight, and tried to tell himself he had wanted to do something like that anyway.

Lucius had heard, once, that you had to hit rockbottom before you could begin to rebuild. He'd dismissed it as nonsense, the kind of thing people said to excuse the absence of proper planning for contingencies.

How he just hoped it was true, and that this was rockbottom. If he had suffered from hubris before, he reckoned he had paid, and then some.

There isn't a lot you can say once you've committed yourself to a life of being good, and all in front of your ancestors. You can hardly discuss their achievements, tinged with dark as they were, without decrying them, and that would make his home even more unwelcoming. Life was hard enough without being shunned – or worse – in your own home.

Nor could you bustle the girl out.

Lucius found it uncomfortable enough knowing he had lost, his world had come to an end, and he was sheltering a traitor, without dealing with a situation that wasn't covered by etiquette.

He was, he considered, fucked.

At a loss, he cast round for some rick in this shifting sand: the First Malfoy. At least he kept his mouth shut, and therefore could be discussed safely without wanting to butt into the conversation.

"This, he said, moving to stand before the portrait, "is the founder of the Malfoy line."

"He seems more recent than some of the others." Hermione stood beside him, looking up at the portrait. "So how is he the first?"

"Before that they were Malefois."

"French?"

"Not for some years – we came over with William the Bastard. But we felt that the time was right to acculturate."

Hermione's gaze wandered over the rest of the gallery, and if it was not tinged with awe or respect, there was a certain grudging something. "It must be nice to have this, to be able to talk to the past."

"Draco tells me you were noted for your interest in history." That had been the essential element of his comments, anyway, shorn of bias.

"I'm sure," she said, and her tone spoke volumes about her ability to interpolate the text.

"It's something of an interest of mine as well." She looked less hostile at that, he'd found some common ground at last. "Not that it is taught properly at Hogwarts."

"You mean it didn't accord with your viewpoint," she said, dry as a desert.

"Professor Binns take on the Goblin Wars is both dull and inaccurate. But it is the Ministry-approved curriculum, so what can one expect?"

She pursed her lips, a faint crease between her brows. "And you know better, because?"

"Because at least three here died in the Wars, two others were wounded severely, and the First Malfoy was rather more instrumental in the final victory than the Ministry would have you believe." Lucius smiled without humour. "By the time the Ministry historians have finished with your contribution to the last contretemps, you will be relegated to a footnote of a minor interest."

She didn't argue the point. He turned the conversation towards the long process of building the Manor as illustrated by portraits through the centuries until it was time to rescue Severus.

Severus looked grateful to be rescued, or as grateful as he ever got, which wasn't much, nothing more than a relaxation of his usual prickly nature.

Something passed between Hermione and Potter – a wordless glance signalling something, and then he shook his head, she pursed her lips and stared at Severus hard, who just arched an eyebrow at her, and whatever it was, was settled between them.

His trio of guests didn't linger for much longer, and excused themselves politely, leaving in a flurry of robes and floo powder.

Lucius didn't expect Severus to be communicative on the issue in the absence of brandy, and even then he would play his cards close to his chest.

It didn't stop him trying the application of his father's finest liquor in the hopes of obtaining information. Old habits died hard, and information was still power, even if it were power of a little sort.

And there was no point asking anything until the fourth glass. Severus had a hard head in so many ways.

"Well, that was interesting," Lucius said, taking another glass of Armagnac. "The Weasley boy is so gauche."

"But why would you want to?" Severus said, mimicking Weasley's bewilderment at the idea of eating oysters perfectly.

"And I think that tells us why that particular relationship came to a halt."

Severus scowled. "Both Granger and Weasley were my students not so long ago, so I would prefer it if we didn't speculate on their amatory adventures."

Lucius shifted his glass, setting the liquid swirling round. "In the first place, neither of them have been your students for some time, and if you are going to adopt that attitude your own chances of amatory adventures, as you so coyly put it, are going to be zero."

Severus grunted, then tacitly admitted the point by asking, "And in the second place?"

"And in the second place, it is hardly likely the poor girl has been having anything close to an _adventure_."

"It won't be her fault, you can be sure of that." Severus shook his head slightly. "She'll have issued instructions, with diagrams, but he's a boy who never listens."

"A woman who knows what she wants; admirable."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "You're not thinking of bedding her yourself are you?"

"I do intend to take up with some immoral young ladies in due course, but she is not immoral, and she is certainly too young. No, I was rather thinking it might be a kindness to introduce her to some unsuitable young men."

Severus appeared unconvinced. "You wouldn't be the first wizard to have some sort of mid-life crisis."

"The estimable Miss Granger is in no danger from me, not in that way, anyway. She's far too gauche. My only intention is to help her career to flourish."

"More of a leg up than a leg over then?"

"She's not the only one who is gauche." Lucius raised his eyebrows, considering Severus thoughtfully across the bowl of the glass. "Perhaps your concern is rather more personal than I had realised, in which case I do apologise for stepping on your toes."

"Nonsense." Severus sat up straight, horrified at the suggestion. "She's far too young for me."

"A matter of congratulation, I believe, were your very words."

Severus subsided into his chair again. "You have a very peculiar sense of humour, Lucius. One day it will get you into trouble."

Lucius took a sip of Armagnac. "You must admit that it's a shame she doesn't have an older sister."

Severus smirked. "I should think her mother is more your age."

Lucius shuddered at the thought of... with a _Muggle_.

"Not that reformed, then," Severus said softly.

Lucius took a large swallow of Armagnac, feeling obscurely guilty. "I can't help what I feel, that doesn't mean..." He took a deep breath. "You know I've always kept my hands clean, and then the Dark Lord took Draco and made him get his hands _filthy_. Draco hated it, I could tell, we all could, and there was nothing we could to. If we intervened, it would only make things worse. So, I stayed and watched, and Draco...Draco couldn't see any difference in the blood of those he was told to hurt, and I came to see things through his eyes. How they were human too, even if they were filthy Muggles, like I'd always thought."

Lucius leaned back and closed his eyes, seeing again the torture of Granger, and her begging Bella to stop, stop, _please stop_, she didn't know anything. "She was very brave. I can't forget that."

"She was a child," Severus said bitterly. "They all were, and none of them should have been involved."

"It was madness. Madness. God knows I have nothing against the pursuit of power, but what was he intending to do at the end of all that? There was no plan, nothing but descent into chaos, managed by that bitch Bella." Lucius' eyes opened, glittering brightly. "I'd have killed her with my bare hands, given the chance. Then him."

"At the end, the price to be paid for power was too high." He took another deep breath, and struggled for the light, slightly mocking tone he always adopted. "The bitter irony is, of course, that no one will believe me if I say I've changed, though I have. You cannot unlearn that lesson; it's always there."

"Granger does. Or, at least, she's prepared to give you a chance." Severus drained his glass in one, then stood up. "If I were you, I'd not take that lightly. Second chances don't come around that often, and they often come at a high price in themselves. I should know."

He put his glass on the sideboard, then walked past Lucius, pausing to squeeze his shoulder. "Night, Lucius."

And then he was gone, leaving Lucius to contemplate redemption.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus woke at six, and glared at the ceiling.

It was a very nice ceiling, ornamented with plaster friezes, tasteful gilding, and painted a delicate shade of powder blue that would show off Malfoy colouring perfectly.

It was also not something he could appreciate, even if he had possessed the necessary colouring, at that early hour. A lifetime spent worrying about school schedules, Dark Lords and whatever madness Dumbledore was going to inflict on him next, had left him incapable of sleeping for more than six hours.

He had had dreams, once, of being powerful and admired, now he would just settle for eight hour's sleep and a lie in. It wasn't as if he had anything to get up for, but still his body insisted on jerking him awake at this ungodly hour. The Healers kept telling him it would all take time, and he shouldn't expect miracles straight away but it still rankled to be still so marked by his past, to be stuck in the same groove.

He sighed, wriggled around a little to see if he could ease the strain on his neck, and reminded himself that a year ago he'd come close enough to death to see Black's smirking face staring at him from the Afterlife.

It was typical of the way his life went that it should be Black and not Lily that he expected to find waiting for him.

On the other hand, at least it hadn't been Potter.

He shifted again, then gave it up as a bad job. There was nothing for it but rising early, a long bath, and a big breakfast to bolster himself against the day. A day that held the prospect of more Potter, even if it were only Potter fils.

By the time he reached the breakfast table it was eight, and Lucius was already there, looking fragile.

"Too much brandy?" he asked.

Lucius grunted.

"And you haven't thought to try hangover potion?"

"I thought that it was only right that I should suffer for my sins," Lucius replied. "They are, after all, the only sins for which I have suffered. I felt the urge for self-flagellation."

"I don't recommend it. I tried it for twenty years or so, and it gets old after the first five." Severus assessed his friend, and didn't like what he saw. He was used to Lucius the self-indulgent, the super-confident, and the uber-plotter. It was always possible that this was another stratagem, but if it were, Lucius would have picked a more public venue in which to parade his newly acquired conscience.

Lucius smiled faintly. "I'm sure it's good for the soul."

"Now you sound like Dumbledore. The next thing you know you'll be rambling about the power of love, and I warn you that, if you do, I shall have you committed to St Mungo's ward for the Bewildered. I have had quite enough of that in my life."

"You don't believe in the power of love?" The old Lucius would have sounded mocking, faintly contemptuous of the idea; now he sounded curious.

"Not much. Not that I've had the chance to test the theory personally, but from observation..." Severus shook his head.

"Then, in due course, when you are no longer skin and bones, we shall have to secure you some affection, so that you can test the theory. If you say that self-flagellation is something to be avoided..."

"I don't want..." Severus scowled. He leaned back in his chair and contemplated his teacup. "I've an appointment at the Ministry this morning."

"Indeed?"

"Potter wants to return some property of mine."

Lucius said nothing, but waited for him to continue, head cocked to one side.

"When I was attacked by Nagini, I thought I was ...I was rather short of breath, and the boy is notoriously stupid. I didn't have the time to explain everything to him, or put up with Granger's incessant questions. So I... gave him some memories. He wants to return them."

"Lily? Oh, don't look so surprised. It always comes back to Lily with you." Lucius' lips tightened. It was only the faintest sign of his anger, but it was more than Severus was accustomed to seeing. "A guess, I promise you. I am not in the habit of listening to the private conversations of friends."

"The old Lucius wouldn't have missed a chance to spot weaknesses in potential enemies or friends."

"Says the spy, " Lucius shot back. "The new Lucius was rather too busy last night being put through the mill by Granger to notice what was happening with you and Potter."

"Do you think it's that easy to let go of the past?"

Lucius' mouth closed with a snap, biting off what he was about to say. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "If you're asking me whether I really have changed..." He shrugged wearily. "Only time will show. If what you're actually asking me is what you should do with the damned memories...?"

Severus nodded slowly. "I know that Lily was important to me, but it's shadowed, diminished with those memories gone. And part of me wants it back, and the other part thinks that I could finally be free of them, and her."

"You certainly don't want to leave them at the Ministry for all comers to see," Lucius said eventually. "As to the rest, I don't think I can give you an answer you can trust. You'd see it as taking the easy option. You need to ask a _better_ person than me. Why not ask a member of the Order?"

"I didn't mean..." Severus had the sickening sense of the world shifting round him. He'd known Lucius from the moment he'd gone to catch the Hogwarts Express and told to stand aside and not get in the way of his betters and started a brawl with the seventh year prefect and new Head Boy.

"Yes, you did. You're an ungrateful sod, always have been." Lucius waved his hand dismissively, and sounded affectionate rather than angry.

He'd bitten Lucius, as he recalled, going in fists flailing and using all of the dirty tricks he'd gleaned from scrapping with the muggle children on his street who thought his Mum odd and his Dad a sour bastard.

They'd been right about that, and he seemed to take after his father, which was bitterly ironic.

And then he'd been sorted into Slytherin, and Lucius had taken him to one side and explained that Wizards didn't resort to their fists to settle disputes, and that if he ever tried something like that again he'd hex his large, pointy nose off because he was a Slytherin and Slytherins were better than that.

God knew what Lucius had seen in that unprepossessing, skinny child who radiated surliness, and who had only a kind word for Lily, but there'd been something. It had to be something other than power and money because he hadn't exactly been burdened with much of that.

"I am grateful," he said quietly.

"Don't say things like that," Lucius replied, rounding his eyes at him, feigning shock. "I'll think you're having a relapse." Severus glared, and Lucius added, "That's more like it."

Rather than pursue the issue of gratitude, now that they were back on solid, familiar bickering ground, Severus said, "Which member of the Order?"

"To talk to?" Lucius grinned evilly. "You want someone honest, noble and self-sacrificing. A Gryffindor, nothing else will do."

"I am not talking about this to Potter!" Severus ground to a halt, unable to articulate the myriad reasons why that would be utterly wrong.

"I should think not. He seems to idolise his mother almost as much as you do, and Weasley is out of the question – he's only just mastered breathing through his nose. A boy who doesn't like oysters is not equipped to answer any deep, philosophical questions."

"Minerva? She's known me longer and we were friends." Severus could see where Lucius was going, and didn't like it.

Lucius shook his head. "She's Pureblood, isn't she? If you want absolution, it would have to be a Muggleborn, and one who _knows_. Which leaves us with Granger, and I can attest that her moral rectitude is sharp as a blade. Her mercy stings."

"It's a stupid idea."

"As you wish." Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. "You know, I think you might be right about the hangover potion. I really don't see why I should suffer when there's something I can do about it."

Severus snorted. Lucius was getting unsubtle in his old age.

Potter was waiting for him at the front door to the Ministry, all bright-eyed and eager to talk about Lily. It took all his strength not to hex him, though his glare still had the force of a hex.

"Erm, good morning, Professor," Potter offered, looking like a first year about to grind his first beetle.

Severus didn't reply. Potter seemed inclined to chat, but he had little else to say to Lily's son and nothing at all to Harry Potter.

Potter said nothing other than basic generalities about the weather and his journey to the ministry as they threaded their way through the deserted corridors to the evidence room. Severus wondered when the boy had acquired tact, and if he had missed the rain of frogs that should have accompanied this marvel or whether it was something else that had occurred whilst he had been out of circulation like Lucius' change of heart.

The world wasn't merely changing; it had changed. Probably even for the better. There was less Longbottom in it, for one thing, and more silk. It also had the feel of impermanency about it, as if it could lurch back to the dark days with very little help.

They reached the door, and Potter dropped the wards with effortless ease.

The contents of the room were neatly arranged on shelves, labelled with a series of six numbers that matched the Index set out in a large book to the right of the door.

"It's 405642," Potter said. "I think that's over here."

Severus hesitated, unsure of whether he was supposed to pursue Potter into the depths of the room, or wait at the entrance. The boy didn't return immediately, and curiosity and nerves drove Severus to follow.

Potter had his tongue between his teeth, as he had done so often in potions' classes when he was thinking. It was disturbing to still see that childish habit persisting into young adulthood, but then he supposed Potter would never really grow up. He was slated to be the Boy-Who-Lived for the rest of his life.

"I think this is it," Potter said, turning to him. "It's the right number, but they're notorious for putting things in the wrong place round here."

"Bribery," Snape said.

Potter looked outraged for a moment, then sighed. "Yeah, probably. It's amazing how much evidence went missing before the Death Eater trials. I'm just grateful that Bellatrix was killed, or we'd be having to apologise to her for her harsh treatment and paying her compensation for wrongful arrest. I still don't know how Malfoy got away with it."

The boy coloured, suddenly aware that he was insulting Severus' only friend.

"Not bribery in his case," Severus replied, holding his hand out for the pensieve. "For once, and it pains him to admit this almost as much as it hurts you to see him get off, he was innocent."

"Innocent-ish," honesty compelled him to add. "He'd been under house arrest by the Dark Lord for the whole year."

Potter handed him the bowl, carefully holding it level so that nothing spilled. "I saw," he said. "It's bloody unpleasant living in the Dark Lord's head, but it does give you some idea of what went on. All the Malfoys looked terrible, thin and worn. Draco especially. Doesn't stop them being nasty pieces of work, though."

Severus shrugged. "As you get older, you'll realise that life isn't black and white, just increasingly murky shades of grey. Lucius … is a paler shade of grey than he once was, but he was never entirely black, not like the Dark Lord. Even Bellatrix had her moments of kindness. Not often, and certainly not after Azkaban, but they were there. That's people for you."

Potter, for a mercy, didn't argue the point. "She still has nightmares."

He didn't need to specify who _she_ was. Severus looked up from the pensieve, eyes shadowed. "We all do."

Potter grunted. "Yeah, I suppose we do. You have to admit it's a bit odd, having dinner at Malfoy Manor. I don't know what she was thinking there."

Severus felt the prickle of irritation, never far away when talking to Potter, flower into something more dangerous. The fact that he had had the odd sleepless night over Lucius and Granger coming into prolonged contact seemed less important than the opportunity to win an argument with Potter. "I expect she felt she owed me something. Lucius is merely a side issue."

Potter's colour darkened still further. "We all owe you something, it's just..."

"Just you weren't prepared to do anything about it. Not till Hermione reminded you what you owed. And even then it was more about your curiosity about your sainted mother, and suspicion about Lucius than any real desire to see me," Severus said savagely.

"I'm just worried that he's using her to get to me," Potter protested.

"Because everything is always about you." He turned away for a moment to get himself under control. Severus knew that was unfair, because everything had been about Potter, or Lily, for the last twenty years. Still, his fingers itched to bring the little snot down a peg or too. "If I were you, I'd trust Granger's judgement about whether she's in any danger from Lucius. It's a little late in the day for you to start independent thought."

Harry's mouth closed with a snap, biting back angry words. He took a deep breath, and let it out with a hiss that reminded Severus startlingly of the Dark Lord for one horrid moment. "I have always trusted Hermione. It's just... I worry about her."

"She seems fine to me. Still bossy, still determined to have her own way, still running round trying to make the world a better place despite all the evidence to the contrary that the world is happy enough the way it is." Severus took a deep breath, determined not to lose his temper. "You don't have to be the Boy Who Lived anymore you know. You saved the world once; you're not obliged to keep on doing it."

Potter flinched.

"Albus trained you to be noble and self-sacrificing, and that was what was needed then. Now, now, you're allowed to stop being a hero." Potter opened his mouth to argue, but Severus cut across him to add, "If anyone needs your help, they will ask you. Hermione particularly. "

"I suppose."

Potter shut up, blessedly, and Severus looked into the Pensieve.

The silvery strands swirled round, and Severus could see flashes of scenes. Just an instant here and there, nothing more: Lily smiling, Lily scowling, Lily shouting at him. It was hard to avoid the suggestion that he'd been obsessed with her. Detached in this way, shorn of emotion, it was hard to see what all the fuss had been about. She'd been moderately pretty, but nothing special.

He blinked at the scenes before him, and probed at the empty spots in his soul, much as someone who'd been at the dentist can't resist sticking their tongue in the bit that hurts.

He could feel the dim echoes of his feelings for her, but mostly what he felt was relief that it was all over. Once he had put this last bit of something to rest, it was time to move on with whatever else life had to offer. Being the best Orchid grower in the magical world sounded about as exciting as he wanted his life to be in the future.

When he looked up, Potter was staring at him. They were Lily's eyes, there was no doubt, and he had hated the boy because of them. He remembered that, dimly. Now, without all that weight of his past pressing down, he thought that he could find reasons enough of his own to dislike the boy.

He supposed that was progress.

He carefully cast a protective charm over the Pensieve, and then shrank it until it could fit in his pocket. "Are there any forms I need to sign?" he said.

"Just countersign the ledger, that'll be enough."

He had to borrow a pen to sign his name. It made him feel uneasy to have his signature on anything the Ministry had touched, so he added extra flourishes and swirls, disguising an anti-tamper charm. He was taking no chances.

Potter took the pen back, carefully stowing it in his robes. "I want to know…tell me what she was like."

"I can't."

"But…"

"Can't, not won't. I never knew her; I only thought I did." If he owed anything to Lily any more, it was to set Potter free from his past, so that Severus could be free from his. "It might be the central tragedy that defines your life, but it's not mine. Not any more."

Potter looked mutinous for a moment, then his face cleared. "Are you going to take your own advice?"

Snape blinked at him. "About?"

"Not being a hero any more? About letting go?" Potter gestured at the pensieve.

For an instant, he wanted to hurt the boy. His second thought was that Lucius had put him up to it, but that was quickly dismissed. Potter wasn't that good at dissembling, nor inclined to listen to Lucius. This was Potter's own suggestion.

Bugger. Bugger. And thrice buggeration. He was getting obvious in his old age.

"I'm sure she'd forgive you," Potter said.

"She wasn't the forgiving type," Severus replied. "That much I do recall. Under the circumstances, I don't call that unreasonable."

It seemed as good a line as any on which to leave.

He Apparated to the gates of the Manor, but didn't pass through them. It felt like he had unfinished business. His last remark to Potter was clever and dismissive, and even true, but it wasn't the last word on the subject. Something more was needed.

He looked up the long drive, and thought for a moment of finding Lucius and talking about Things, but the person he needed to speak to was dead. He'd barely formed that thought before he turned on the spot and Apparated away again.

The Potter grave was ornate, and there were fresh flowers in the vase to the front. Potter's doing it, all of it. He remembered Lily's resting place as something bare and bleak, as her sister, left with the funeral to sort out, had gone for the cheapest arrangements suitable for her middle class aspirations. No headstone, and there had been no flowers.

He'd watched her burial from the gate under a disillusionment charm, and wondered if it was possible to die of a broken heart, of guilt, and shame. Not merely wondered, but hoped for it.

He didn't need a charm now; there was no one here to see him, which was fortunate for a man talking to a grave looks a fool.

"Well," he said, no more able to talk to her in death than in life. "I expect the boy comes round to see you regularly. He's an idiot, of course. Takes after his father."

He stopped, trying to find a way to formulate his thoughts that wouldn't sound insulting.

"He still believes in Dumbledore, which is ... incredible."

That was better.

"I've always wondered whether Dumbledore knew what was going to happen. I mean, I don't… didn't like Potter, god knows, but he wasn't entirely stupid. Just, you know, mostly. So what did the bastard say to you, did he pass on the warning I brought, or did he just stand round and let it all unfold for the sake of that fucking prophecy. Did he plan it? Or do I just want him to have planned it, so it's not my fault."

He squatted down, and peered at the headstone. "Lily Potter devoted wife and mother. True enough, I suppose, but it wasn't all you were.

"You know, after ... it happened, He offered to bring you back. I said no, well, obviously. You know that. I didn't know if it was a test to see whether I loved you more than I feared him. I know I'm supposed to say that it wouldn't have been you, just a shadow of you, but I would have taken that, I think. Then, I would have. And now, now, that's what I have, here, in my head, and it seems inadequate. A bit of a relief, but definitely inadequate."

He needed a drink. This was not the sort of conversation you should have sober.

"So, it's sort of the same choice really. I can have you back again, take these memories and shove them back in my head, and be that same creature that followed you around and wanted you more than breathing. Except it turned out I liked my life more than you, so I'm not sure quite how that works. Almost as much as breathing, perhaps? Lucius is better at hyperbolae than me."

He touched one of the lilies in the vase at the front of the grave.

"Typical Potter. Bloody obvious, and bloody wrong. You hated lilies. I recall that much. So many people gave them to you, thinking it was the height of elegance. You preferred roses. I suppose I should tell the boy that.

"Or not. Is it better to know things or to live in ignorance?"

"Shit. I don't know." He sat down on the damp grass, wrapping his robes round him to keep out the chill. "I don't really know what to do when there isn't someone to give me orders, and I can't really rely on Lucius as he doesn't have much of a moral compass. No, that's unfair. He does, it's just a little bit skewed from true North.

"I suppose this is freedom."

He sat in silence for a long while, until the chill struck into his bones, and his mother's advice about piles ran through his head. He levered himself up off the ground, and, facing the grave, bowed formally.

"I am sorry, Lily Evans. I was young and stupid and had no idea what I was doing. And I spent twenty years paying for it, nearly died, and kept your son safe. I think…" There was a hard lump in his stomach, like he'd been kicked, or there was something growing there that would sprout and spread and choke him.

He took out the pensieve, and looked at it, small in his hand. So small to contain his life. He snorted. It wasn't much of a life. Slowly, he tipped the thing to one side. The liquid swirled, then rose up to the lip of the bowl. He increased the angle, turning it over more and more, a thin stream of his memories dripping onto the earth.

"I think we're done, now," he said, when the bowl was finally empty.

There was silence. If he'd been a romantic soul, he'd have hoped for some sign – a lily falling at his feet, an apparition, something to show that she understood and approved.

He took out a hanky and blew his nose, hard, a little at a loss to know what to do next.

"I'm sure I'd be much more impressed with that gesture if I didn't know you could brew a potion to reverse the damned memory loss," Lucius said from behind him.

Severus choked back a laugh, and turned to his friend. "What are you doing here?"

Lucius shrugged. "You were late back."

"You were worried?"

"Of course I bloody was. I thought you might have punched Potter, and I'd have to get you out of the Ministry clutches. Or help you Obliviate him." He paused, eyes flickering over Severus, assessing his state. "You all right, then?"

"Close enough. You know, Potter said she'd forgive me," he said, looking over his shoulder at the grave. "I don't think she would. But I just might forgive myself. I just bloody might."

"It's about time." Lucius reached out and clasped his arm.

Severus looked at Lucius' hand. His long, pale fingers felt warm, the only warm thing in the place. Suddenly, he was swept with the knowledge that he had survived. He was alive and free. And bloody close to crying.

"Now, I suggest we go and get blinding drunk in a cheap hell hole and be all maudlin about our lost youth." Lucius patted his arm. "And then you can tell me that I'm your bestest friend, and I'll say that you're my bestest friend, and we can go home and the elves will make us fried food with no discernable nutritious value."

"Home?" Severus asked, his voice cracking.

"Yes, you know the place. Malfoy Manor. A rather tasteful display of Palladian architecture over an Elizabethan framework…"

"I know, but…"

"…where you've been living for the last year, and where you will go on living as long as you want."

"Right."

"Mother would never let me hear the end of it, if you were to move out. Who would look after the Orchids?"

"The house elves?" Severus offered.

"Mother says they don't have the same gentle hand as you. She's even talking of entering them into competition again."

"It's not the gentle hand," Severus replied. "It's the potions."

"Cheating? Oh, I do approve."

Severus smiled, a little uncertainly at first, and then it flowered fully. The harsh discipline of true north was overrated anyway. He'd settle for north by northwest, and a pint of beer.


	7. Chapter 7

The Miserable Bastards Club

Hermione didn't think of Lucius as a friend, or even trustworthy, but when someone dangled bait in front of her about goblins and Ministry secrets, she was going to bite anyway. The thought that this was some sort of trap made her hesitate, hand on the Ministry Library door, for a second or so, but she couldn't see that knowing something would ever get her into trouble.

Knowledge was good.

She pushed the door open, and stepped into the only place in the Ministry she ever felt she could relax in.

That Hermione loved libraries was a given. It was therefore no surprise to anyone when the second place she searched out on joining the Ministry – the first was the loo, for practical reasons, and also to give her somewhere to hide from her boss – was the Ministry Library.

After Hogwarts, it seemed small and shabby, but it hadn't taken her long to work out that it held a damned fine collection of books, entirely unknown to her. Borrowing books from the library was the only perk her job afforded her above the pittance she was insulted with every month that was ironically entitled salary, as if anyone could live on it.

Hermione loved libraries, but it was a sad fact that librarians didn't love her. She made demands of them, expected them to find obscure books, knew that the first edition of that book was better than the second, and that the Scariton was more reliable than the Shrefton. She knew how to use the catalogue, the obscure shelf numbering system, and could wrestle the Darkest book into submission.

She was the piece of grit that blocked up the smooth running works of the Library. When she was around, books were out on loan, and there were ugly gaping wounds in the bookcases.

"Morning," she said to the empty room.

The Librarian popped his head above the counter, and blinked at her. "Oh, it's you. You haven't been in for ages, which isn't like you. I wondered if you'd been ill."

Hermione ignored the subtext that made it clear that it was rather more hoping than wondering.

She usually went two or three times a week, and borrowed her one-at-a-time permitted book, and started reading her way through the stacks, starting at alchemy and with the ultimate aim of reaching the books on Zoroastrianism and its influence on potions.

"I got bogged down on my last project," she replied, putting her copy of 'Arithmancy, and how to Rule the World" on the returns desk.

"No success with this then, I see. Not Minister yet." The Librarian allowed himself a small chuckle at his own joke.

"Not yet." Hermione smiled back, though the words stung. As far as she could see, Deputy Head of Department of Cauldron Depth was out of her reach.

The Librarian had gone from slightly surprised to see anyone borrow books they didn't need to read, to fighting a running battle with Hermione to stop her doing so. He had suggested wholly inappropriate and unhelpful titles and restricted her to one book at a time unless she had a note from her boss authorising additional borrowing.

Hermione had no idea what his first name was. He was just The Librarian.

He was also too important to deal with a mere minion such as herself, which was a relief for both of them. "Susan, here, will sort you out," he said, and then disappeared back under the counter.

If the Librarian didn't like Hermione, Susan did. They were both in the same position of working for someone less talented than themselves, who resented that bitterly, and missed no chance to let that be known.

Susan occasionally managed to sneak an extra book Hermione's way, or pointed out the more interesting books to read. Hermione looked at her – forty, greying, and with a permanent furrow in her brow from the strain of dealing with an idiot – and hoped she wasn't looking at her future.

Hermione moved away from the counter, deeper into the Library, where she wouldn't be overheard.

"So you'll be wanting to move onto Bookcase VIII," Susan said, following Hermione into the stacks. "There's a very entertaining book on Austromancy."

"Divination isn't exactly my thing..."

"It's rather a sideways look at the discipline, with the – how shall I put it? – emphasis rather more on the windiness of one's colleagues, than the actual divination."

Hermione snorted. "Perhaps another time. It does sound fun. But this time, I'm rather after something on the Goblin Wars. Someone has suggested to me that the version I was taught at Hogwarts wasn't entirely accurate."

Susan froze. "I don't think we have anything that answers that description. Er, who mentioned this to you?"

"Does it matter, if there's no truth in the suggestion?"

She gave Hermione a hard look. "If you know enough to ask about it, then you know enough to know that there might be some truth about it. If I were you, I wouldn't ask any more awkward questions. The Librarian is supposed to report anyone who requests this information. As it's you...You know he'd love to do it."

"So there is something. I wondered."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Susan sighed. "I've never really approved of banning books... You'll find nothing here, but, if you aren't going to ask the original source of information for help...?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't trust him. Well, I don't trust him a lot."

"Very wise." Susah shook her head, not in denial, but in resignation at the eccentricities of the world. "There are very few bookshops that would have the volumes in question, and you can't afford them anyway as the Ministry has a standing order for anyone that comes across the books, so there are only two possible sources that are beyond the Ministry's reach. One of whom you have just ruled out."

"Is that why he managed to stay out of Azkaban?"

Susan nodded. "That, and all the other information that family have acquired over the years. You know Archimedes said that you could move the world with a long enough lever and somewhere safe to stand – I'd say the Malfoys have always had a very long lever."

Once, Hermione would have protested that was unfair. Now she was wondering what she could do with a lever of her own. "And the other source?"

"The estate of Albus Dumbledore was distributed to many sources. I believe his books were added to the Hogwarts' library."

"In that case, could I trouble you for something on protective wards? I'd like to know how to make places Unplottable, for instance."

"Let me see..." Susan walked to the central aisle and opened the catalogue. She ran a finger along the index. "This might be just what you were after. On a purely academic basis, of course."

"Of course."

The evil look the Librarian gave her as she left was only equalled by the one the Hyena chose to show Hermione when she slipped into her cubicle ten minutes late.

"Your timekeeping is deplorable, Miss Granger," she said. "If this keeps up, I shall have to..."

Hermione smiled brightly. "Sack me? And explain to the press why you sacked Hermione Granger, Heroine of the Wizarding World. I don't think so, do you?"

The Hyena frowned for a moment, thinking things through. "I was going to say that I would report you to Mr Weasley."

"Oh do," Hermione replied, still smiling, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sure he'd like to explain the same thing to the press. Now, why don't you leave me in peace to get on with doing my work. Or perhaps you'd like to try doing some yourself?"

The Hyena's eyes widened, and she controlled herself with difficulty. "This is not the end of matters."

"Bloody right, they aren't," Hermione muttered under her breath, and turned to her book. Since she'd started on her work to rule, she'd developed a habit of working on Wednesdays and Thursdays to get her allotted tasks completed, leaving the rest of the week free for plotting and long lunches.

It was, she thought, an important lesson – if you do the hard work, you don't get the thanks; you get more hard work. To which her response could only be summarised as: sod that for a game of soldiers.

HGSSLM

The pub was dark and dingy, and hadn't seen a cleaning spell since the last century – no, the century before that as the last century was only last week really - and it suited her mood down to the ground, though she wasn't sure whether her mood was dingy. It was dark, granted, but could a mood be dingy. Perhaps she was dingy, and her mood was dark.

She took another sip of firewhisky.

The pub was dark and dingy, and that suited her down to the ground – her mood was dark, and she was dingy.

Still wasn't working.

Nevermind.

The pub was shit, and so was she. There, that summed it all up in one sentence. Whoever had said that the answers to all problems could be found in the bottle of firewhisky was spot on. Apart from Arithmancy problems, of course, for which a piece of paper and a quill would be more suitable, or maybe you just needed to have another bottle ...

On the one hand, she hadn't got any Arithmancy problems that needed solving, on the other hand, the bottle was looking a bit empty.

She didn't pay much attention to the figure at the bar as she weaved over to it to order a second.

"Are you sure that's wise, Miss Granger?"

It seemed perfectly natural to her that Professor Snape should be there to tell her off for drinking. That's what Professor Snape did.

"Probably not," she said. "Not going to stop me though."

The look he gave her – both of him – was composed of irritation and curiosity in about equal measure, with only a slight hint of concern. Presumably concern won out, or maybe it was the curiosity, because she found herself wedged at his table next to Lucius Malfoy. She would have objected, but he'd brought another bottle, and poured her a glass of wine.

It wasn't as strong as the Firewhiskey, but the bar was an awfully long way away and it was too much effort to get something better.

"Still picking up waifs and strays, Severus?" Lucius murmured.

Hermione glared at him. "I'm not a waif."

"Someone has to look after her." Severus poured another glass and passed it across to Lucius. "She's not very sober, and this is not a salubrious establishment."

"Is it a dive?" she asked. "I've always wanted to go to a dive, but the boys won't ever take me. Spoilsports."

"This is not a dive. Lucius wouldn't appear in a dive." Severus poured himself a glass, and took a healthy swallow.

Hermione pouted, then tried to peer down her own nose to see the pout. She'd never pouted before. She wasn't sure if it was a new skill she was acquiring as part of her repertoire of plottingness, or merely another sign of her moral decay.

"If you want it to be a dive, then it can be," Lucius observed. "The glasses are certainly dirty enough."

Hermione smiled brightly. Pouting clearly worked.

"Are you drowning your sorrows too?" she asked. "I am. I don't think it's helping though."

"It rarely does," Severus replied. "And the hangover tomorrow will just make everything worse."

She blinked at him. That sounded like the voice of experience. She wondered what life had been like for him at Hogwarts, entirely isolated and with no one to talk to. "Then it's a celebration," she said. "A celebration of the worm turning."

"Do tell," Lucius said.

"I've been taken for granted."

"Potter?" said Severus.

"Weasleys. All of them. Amongst a long sodding list."

"Ah." Severus poured himself another glass, and passed it to Lucius.

"Do you know what he bought me for our first Christmas together? Season tickets to the Chudley Cannons. Chudley. Cannons."

"I feel your pain, Miss Granger," Lucius said. "I really do, the Cannons are a truly awful team."

"I hate Quidditch," she said flatly. "One of my defining characteristics – love books, hate Quidditch. Didn't even get me a sodding book token, which would have been thoughtless and careless, but season tickets to a sport I hate? What does that say about us?"

"Which, of course, you asked him," Severus put in.

Hermione nodded. "Which, I did, and he said, well what do you like? in this sneering way that made me want to slap him, or hold his face under the washing up water till the bubbles stopped. I mean, really, that much. And then I realised, I couldn't think what I liked any more – other than books. Because we always do what he wants, or what Harry wants, or what Harry and Ron wants, and we never get to do what I want."

She belched, putting her hand to her mouth in a ladylike fashion.

"And now I have to do what Arthur wants, and what the Hyena wants, because otherwise I'm getting above myself, which is just bloody typical. The point is though, the point I am trying to make, was that I was telling Arthur all about my Evil Boss, and he tells me that my other Evil Boss, not the Hyena, but the other one, the one before the Hyena has stolen my ideas to make him look good..."

"Poor thing," Lucius said, and patted her hand, trying to look avuncular. As his uncle Morad was a two-faced backstabber who made Macchiavelli look moral, he succeeded admirably.

"And he didn't believe me." Hermione looked at them in turn, eyes wide. "He thought I was making it up to make myself look better."

"People tend to be ungrateful," Severus said darkly.

"I've never liked the Weasleys," said Lucius.

Hermione snuffled, then turned to Lucius. "It's sweet the way you're supporting me, but I want you to know that doesn't mean I trust you."

"I should hope not," he replied. "That would be a terrible blow to my reputation."

"It's true. I've known him thirty years, and I don't trust him." Severus nodded wisely. "He's untrustworthy."

"Thank you, Severus. It's always nice to be appreciated." Lucius patted Severus on the shoulder.

"I wouldn't know," Hermione said. "I wouldn't bloody know."

"I would have thought that life would be rather easy for someone in your position," Lucius remarked.

"Apparently, all I contributed to the downfall of Voldemort..." - both men winced at the name - "... was doing the sodding washing up." Hermione paused to consider the iniquities of the boys. "Ron ran away, you know," she said. "You didn't run away." She looked at Severus, then turned to Lucius and peered at him beadily for a second, before adding, "Or you, come to that."

"Narcissa wouldn't agree with you on that," Lucius replied, in a carefully neutral tone.

"Well, she shouldn't, would she? It's much easier to blame you for everything than face up to her own faults. I'm not seeing much moral high ground there." Hermione wobbled on her stool, and steadied herself on the bar's counter top.

"And Gryffindors are experts at moral high ground," Severus said.

"I think there's an insult in there. But I'm going to ignore it, because I'm almost coming to like you, and because I'm in the middle of whinging, and I want to get to the end." Hermione took another gulp of her wine. "Uncle Lucius promised to listen, didn't you?"

Lucius flinched at the sobriquet, and had to take some firewhiskey to fortify himself. "Why not just call me Lucius, my dear."

"Ok," she said. There was something nagging her about his appearance. The hair was impeccable as always, and she wondered whether she could ask him what spells he used, and what he'd want in return.

"What happened to your cane?" she said. "You're not very Looshesusy without your cane. I mean, you've still got the pretty pretty hair – what do you use as conditioner, though, the blood of virgins- but you need the cane back. Is it..." - she hiccupped discreetly, mildly amused that she was conforming to the stereotype of a drunk, then turned back to the fascinating topic of Lucius' emasculation – "Is it a boy thing?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Madam!" Lucius exclaimed, and drew his robes a little more closely round himself.

Severus laughed. "You can't hex her, Lucius," he said, once he'd managed to control himself. "You're only just out of probation."

"Too many witnesses, as well," Hermione said.

"That too." Severus smirked.

"I can make her life a completely misery," Lucius replied, glaring at the pair of them.

"Too late," Hermione said mournfully. "Too late. Already there."

And then she had the most brilliant idea. If her friends weren't going to be useful, perhaps her enemy could. "Do you want to come home with me? I've got something to show you."

"Why not?" Lucius said.

"I can give you any number of reasons." Severus threw Lucius an admonishing look.

"I've got a couple of bottles of wine, and a bit of cheese and some biscuits," she said.

"And you think I'm that easily bought?" Severus asked.

"And crisps."

"Oh, well, that makes all the difference, doesn't it?" Lucius said, and gathered his cloak on his arm. "Come along Severus."

"You don't even know what they are," Severus muttered under his breath as he held the door open for Hermione.

"I'm sure they're delightful," Lucius replied.

"No, they're salt and vinegar," Hermione replied, and stumbled into Severus who put out an arm to steady her.

"Close enough," he said, sounding almost kind. "Close enough."

Hermione's flat was small, but neatly arranged. You could swing a cat in it, provided it was a small cat, and you didn't mind it being concussed. Crookshanks stalked out of the kitchen diner and butted his head against Hermione's knee. "Hello, Crooks," she crooned. "Mummy's home."

Crookshanks went on to sniff at the feet of her companions. He sat back on his haunches, and meowed plaintively, until Severus bent down and scratched behind his ear.

"If you sit down, I'll fetch the stuff," she said.

There was barely room for two wizards on her sofa, or the little table she put in front of them with the promised nibbles. She perched on the arm of the sofa nearest Severus, whilst he poured them all a glass of wine.

"It's not as good as elf-made wine, I'm afraid," she said, very much aware it was the special offer from Sainsbury's that week.

Lucius sniffed at it suspiciously, then took a sip. "It's acceptable."

"That's gushing praise," Severus said dryly. "Now what was it you wanted to show us?"

"Well, I was thinking about what Lucius said when we had lunch, about the old boy's network, and I've been trying to map it out." She drew her wand, and Lucius' hand shifted to his arm. She pretended not to notice, but didn't cast until she had explained what she was doing. "I'm just going to drop the shielding charm."

She didn't move until his hand eased off, then cast the necessary spells. The web of influence shimmered into existence above them.

"Well, now," said Lucius. "Now that is a work of art."

Severus sighed, and helped himself to a handful of crisps.

"I can't work out all the connections, of course," she said, and nudged Severus. He held out the bowl to her, and she took a handful of crisps.

"And now you'd like me to fill in the gaps," Lucius said.

"Dunno," she said. "Depends on what you want in return."

Severus snorted. "You're not that drunk then."

Severus held the bowl out to Lucius, who inspected the contents with mild concern. He took a crisp, and bit down on it gingerly. Severus and Hermione watched the process with shared amusement.

"Most unusual," Lucius said, then took another crisp. He fixed his gaze on the glowing ball. "I want one of these installed at the Manor."

"I don't know," Hermione said, uncertainly.

"This charm is as good as the information contained in it, yes?" Lucius said.

Hermione nodded.

"And I will be providing the bulk of the information contained in it."

Hermione nodded again.

"Then this means that I will know nothing at the end of the process that I didn't know already, whereas you will be much better informed."

Hermione blinked, and considered that. It would be nothing more than a representation of Lucius' mind. And Lucius already had one of those, so providing him with another one wouldn't make any difference to him at all, whilst making an awful lot of difference to her.

"All right," she said. "I can do that."

She could also link the two versions of the spell together, so she could keep an eye on what the twisty bastard was using it for. That would be spying on him, then, and not helping him, and was therefore acceptable.

Lucius began feeding her snippets of information, which Hermione reflected in the charm, altering the connections and adding new names as required. She could home in on particular sections, making them larger at will, then shrinking them back down again so they could move on to others.

As she did so, Severus' breathing deepened, and his body relaxed more and more. Eventually, as she made an adjustment to the finer details of the organisation of the Magical Liaison department, his head fell back on her leg.

Lucius cast a curious glance at her when she stopped manipulating the spell.

"Ah," he said, softly. "He still tires easily."

"I thought he was better." Hermione looked down at Snape's harsh features, finally relaxed in sleep, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes, and the lines etched across his face.

"He is better, that's not the same as cured."

Severus snuffled, and shifted to make himself more comfortable.

"He doesn't sleep well, I know that, though I doubt he ever did," Lucius added.

Hermione's fingers twitched, stifling the urge to move a strand of hair that had fallen across his cheek.

"His recovery has stalled - most of the time he just sits in the Conservatory enjoying the sun, and smiling. It's not like him."

Hermione realised two things. The first was that Lucius was genuinely worried about his friend, and he was probably the only person in the country who was. Other than her. And that was the second thing, Lucius had seen that small moment of sympathy and was going to exploit it ruthlessly.

He wasn't all that interested in the web spell, just in getting her to visit the Manor to talk to Severus.

She looked up at it spinning above her. A flick of the wrist added Severus to it, and then another tied him in to Lucius and to her.

"I think that you might just owe me that favour now," she said. "Tell me about the Goblins."


End file.
